


Bereth: To Have and To Hold

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [23]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fourth Age, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas and Elrohir’s love is beset from within by misunderstandings and from without by an evil from an age long past. Twenty-third story in a series chronicling the millennia-spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Portents

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offence is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> This story takes place some ten years after the events narrated in _Calenlass: Heart of a Prince_. Inspiration for certain parts came from _The Silmarillion_. I was in an experimental mood when I wrote this part so it has elements that are quite different from the previous stories. Don't be surprised if some ideas seem rather AU in theme or tone. Blame it on my muses insisting that I take a more adventurous approach to this particular piece. But seriously, it was a necessary change of pace at this point of such a long series and served to refresh me and keep writer’s block at bay. Whether or not the style is to your taste, I hope you'll enjoy this story nevertheless.

Eryn Lasgalen, _hrîvë_ F.A. 32  
Winter this year in the lands east of the Misty Mountains seemed at once mild and harsh at the same time. Snow and ice had failed to materialize leaving paths clear and treetops unburdened yet the ground was frozen solid and the carcasses of birds and beasts littered the forest, slain by the unforgiving cold of many a cruel night. It was strange weather considering that the peaks and slopes of the Misty Mountains were crowned in frost and blanketed with snow. And travelers coming over the high passes before they closed reported the west to be steadily slipping into the usual pristine embrace of the season.

But despite the oddities of the situation, certain routines were not in the least disrupted as proven by the party of Elven rangers that made its stealthy way along the wending tracks of the forest. They hailed from the woodland realm of Northern Eryn Lasgalen. That they were out on patrol in such bone-chilling weather was testament not only to the Elves’ unrelenting devotion to keeping their realm safe and secure but to the exigencies spawned by the said weather. 

The lack of snow and ice had encouraged the orcs that infested the deeps of Hithaeglir and the Ered Mithrin to come out of their usual winter’s hiding and raid the settlements at the feet of the mountains. Not content with that, they had dared to break Greenwood’s borders in their never ending need to inflict as much mayhem as they could on its denizens, whether Elven or otherwise. The Silvan Elves, Beornings and Woodmen had retaliated in kind, decimating the invading goblins with equal ferocity and even greater efficiency. 

Distrustful of the orcs’ retreat to their mountain strongholds, the Wood-elves now kept constant patrol of their borders lest any treacherous groups should attempt to re-enter the forest.

However that was not the only reason they combed the woods so assiduously. 

This particular troop of rangers had proceeded to the northern reaches of the Wood of Greenleaves, drawn by some vague but nevertheless palpable evil. Their affinity with their forest home enabled them to understand the whispers of the trees and plants and grass and those whispers had alluded to peril in the north. The fairly recent strange occurrences in these environs lent credence to the trees’ rustling warnings.

The northern bounds had long known no dangers beyond the usual incursions of orcs and brigands and the occasional blundering troll. But in the last quarter century or so, there had been a disturbing number of unexplained disappearances in this neck of the green wood. The first victims had been from the human caravans that infrequently plied the routes on the outskirts of the forest. In all cases, it was the women who vanished; the men were always slain without exception. None survived to tell the tale of the women’s fates. It was assumed they had been abducted but there was no knowing who had done so or why. No demand for ransom ever came forth nor was there any evidence of enforced servitude anywhere amongst the inhabited regions of the north. The women were simply never heard from again.

Thranduil, Elvenking of the woodland realm, had been troubled by such tidings. But even with the aid of the Beornings and Woodmen and the collusion of neighboring Dale and Esgaroth, the mystery had remained unsolved. However, in the first years of the past decade, the number of women who disappeared had suddenly escalated and, even more alarming to the Elves, had begun to include their own. 

With the downfall of Sauron and the destruction of his fortress of Dol Guldur in the southern reach of the former Mirkwood, the caution of all the forest dwellers had lessened. After the elimination of the great spiders that had once infested the dark woods, men had started to build colonies in the south of the forest though they were careful not to trespass upon the territory of the Elves of East Lórien. Celeborn had since forsaken that realm in favor of his grandsons’ company in Imladris, but many of his people stayed on, awaiting only his summons to join him when at last he passed West.

While Men explored the south, the Elves of the woodland kingdom had tamed the north. There were many flourishing, far-flung colonies scattered in the area. It was from the most remote of these settlements that the Elf-women had been taken. Again the disappearances had followed the previous pattern. The females had been taken, the rest slain to seal their lips forever.

Thranduil had promptly recalled his people, moving them back to the more secure regions of his realm. As a result, there had been no further incidents involving the Wood-elves but human women continued to vanish here and there. Ever mindful of his duty to those within his area of responsibility, seeking to prevent deeper incursions of whatever it was that had bedeviled the colonies and mayhap discover its nature, the Elvenking had decreed that the northern reaches would be as thoroughly patrolled as the west. 

The inexplicable disappearances had finally ceased and there had been no new reported cases for three years now. But the Elves refused to relax their vigilance and continued to keep a close watch on the northern bounds of the wood.

Now the most recent patrol scoured the wood, drawn by a sense of something having occurred though they had not the slightest notion what that could be. It was just as they were set to give up and turn back that two of their number finally found what they sought.

There, nearly hidden by the gnarled roots of a tree, lay a man or rather the body of one. A little further off they found two more bodies in much the same state as the first. 

With mingled horror and awe, one scout raced back to the troop’s captain and made his report. The captain hastened to the tangled grove in which the rangers had made their gruesome discovery. 

He stood tall and proud this Elven warrior; was slender of frame yet formidable of form. Beautiful as sunlight with his golden hair, bright blue eyes and ivory skin, he seemed unsuited for the role demanded of him. Yet his appearance belied his peerless skill whether in archery or outright battle. 

Legolas, youngest prince of the woodland kingdom, stared down at the corpses. He grimaced in revulsion and not a little perturbation as he wondered who or what in Arda could have done this. And how.

**********************************  
Glossary:  
bereth - spouse  
hrîvë - Sindarin for winter

_To be continued…_


	2. I. Troubling Matters

Elladan gently eased his wife onto one of the benches in the main dining hall of the woodland realm’s royal pavilion. In her eleventh month of pregnancy, Nimeithel was no longer the lissome Elf whose regal grace equaled that of the Queen of Gondor. But she was still jaw-droppingly beauteous as evinced by her husband’s inability to take his eyes or hands off her for long. 

“Are you comfortable?” he asked when she squirmed a little before settling down at last.

“Enough to have breakfast,” she replied with a smirk. “I seem to be a little sore.”

Elladan blushed at the implication of her remark. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to overdo it last night.”

Nimeithel swallowed a giggle at his discomfiture. “As to that, I would rather you always overdid it than hear you’ve spent yourself in some wench’s bed.”

The Elvenlord bristled. “You know I care nothing for the charms of others,” he retorted reprovingly. Elfkind did not take kindly to infidelity or suggestions of it even in jest.

Nimeithel’s eyes widened a little, as she realised the impropriety of her words. That she had uttered them rather than Elladan made them a little less offensive but that did not change the fact that they should not have been uttered at all in the first place. 

“Forgive me, _melethen_ ”—my love—she cooed contritely. “I fear ‘tis my condition that loosens my tongue. I know you would never stray from me, which is why I bear the brunt of your attention even this close to birthing.”

The blush returned as umbrage quickly seeped away. Smiling entreatingly, the princess sneaked a hand beneath the long table to squeeze one hard thigh. Elladan promptly gave her a look that promised more of his attention at the first opportunity possible. 

Such passion as they shared was uncommon even among the Elves, the most passionate of all Arda’s sentient races. It was mostly due to Elladan’s considerable carnal appetite, a trait he had in common with his twin brother, Elrohir. It was the reason Nimeithel had delayed conceiving for so long, this knowledge that her husband would feel deprived when she reached the end of gestation and during the recovery period after giving birth. 

Many had argued that the wait would not be lengthy. She was an Elf, for Elbereth’s sake. She would heal swiftly by mortal standards. But Nimeithel knew her Elladan; knew he would chafe at the wait, no matter how brief. Even now, huge as she was with child, he still took her nearly every night, as if preparing for the famine that was to follow. That they now knew the full measure of shared rapture brought on by this first conception deepened his hunger for her even further. There were times she wondered what it would be like once she recovered from birthing and just as swiftly would put aside the thought when it reduced her to tremor-inducing fits of equal parts anticipation and apprehension.

Her imminent birthing was the reason they had come to Eryn Lasgalen. Although Nimeithel had stoutly asserted that she did not mind giving birth in Rivendell, Elladan knew she would be much more at ease in the company of her kin. There was Brethildor’s wife to see to her needs and her mother’s female cousins as well. And so, he had brought her to her father’s realm for the winter; she was due to have their babe in February.

They were midway through their meal when Elrohir walked in, looking rather distracted. Elladan gestured to his twin to join them. Murmuring greetings, Elrohir kissed his law-sister on the cheek and sat across from the couple. 

He and Legolas had come north as well, taking advantage of a long bout of peace in Ithilien. With the southern orcs beaten into submission for a spell, the fair province was quiet and secure at the moment. Missing the company of their respective families, they had asked leave of Elessar and arrived in the woodland kingdom soon after Elladan and Nimeithel.

Signaling to a servant to bring food for the Elf-lord, Nimeithel said, “I trust you slept well last night, _gwanur_?”—brother.

Before Elrohir could reply, Elladan snorted amusedly and drawled, “I doubt he or Legolas got any sleep at all, _melethril._ They were at it long before we retired for the night and I would not be surprised if they were still at it long after we fell asleep.”

Elrohir scowled at his twin’s remark and kicked him beneath the table. Elladan yelped and quickly pulled back his legs, but the mischievous grin did not leave his face.

Not that his words were uncalled for. While many had commented on the lustful nature of his relationship with Nimeithel, no one could deny that Elrohir and Legolas surpassed them by far. Nimeithel was wont to say such a state of affairs was not surprising given that theirs was a mating between two mettlesome warriors of concupiscence to match.

“I slept quite well, _gwanur_ ”—sister—Elrohir pointedly addressed Nimeithel, sparing Elladan the mildest of glares. “Contrary to what my dear brother may suggest.”

Nimeithel giggled, enjoying as always the interplay between the twins. They fell silent for a while when a servant brought Elrohir’s breakfast. Once the Elf walked away, Elladan idly asked, “Where is Legolas?”

The smile suddenly faded from the Elf-knight’s face. “I was hoping you could tell me,” he admitted softly. “He was gone when I woke up.”

Elladan and Nimeithel glanced at each other. “Have you searched for him?” Nimeithel asked cautiously. 

Elrohir nodded pensively. “No one in the palace seems to know where he is.”

The princess bit her lip, feeling a little guilty on behalf of her wayward brother. 

Elrohir sighed. “I just wish he left me word of his plans whatever they were,” he said. “Even a note would have sufficed.”

“I wish we could help you, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—Elladan responded. “But Legolas did not see fit to speak to us either this morn. We have no idea where he might be.”

It so happened the servant had returned to their table with a hot-from-the-oven loaf of bread. Overhearing Elladan’s words, he respectfully addressed Elrohir. 

“ _Hir nîn_ , Prince Legolas left with the border patrol just before dawn,” he offered diffidently, embarrassed at being the one to inform the Elf-lord of his own mate’s whereabouts. 

The utter stillness of Elrohir’s countenance upon being so informed unnerved the Elf greatly. It was apparent he had not thought to inquire about the prince at the barracks but, after all, who would? 

“Thank you,” the twin finally said. The servant hurried away. 

Elrohir stared unseeingly at his food, appetite gone. Then without a word, he rose and left the dining hall. Elladan and Nimeithel stared after him then looked at each other. 

“How could Legolas do this to him?” the princess murmured, shamed for her brother.

“He has been doing it for a long time now, _herves_ ”—wife—Elladan said curtly. "'Tis only a matter of time before Elrohir loses his patience. I fear the outcome when he does.”

Nimeithel felt her husband’s pain for his brother. She knew full well just how deep the rapport between the twins truly was. Even at far distances, they could oft sense the other’s well being or lack thereof. Their respective espousals had naturally separated them to a certain extent as they turned their attentions and affections to their respective binding-mates. But the closeness they had always shared never vanished and would immediately rekindle when they were together. 

Placing an understanding hand over Elladan’s, she softly said, “Go to him, my heart. He needs you now.”

Casting a grateful smile at her, Elladan rose, kissed her gently and followed in his brother’s wake. 

He found him wandering aimlessly in the gardens behind the royal pavilion. Wordlessly, he joined his twin and curled a comforting arm around his shoulders. Such was their accord that the simple gesture was enough to soothe Elrohir’s heart. Nevertheless, Elladan was perforce compelled to voice his worries. It was time the younger twin confided his troubles in him. 

Elladan regarded him with concern. “ _Muindor_ , are you happy with Legolas?”

“Of course, why do you ask?” Elrohir replied.

“Really, Elrohir, you cannot deny there is something amiss between the two of you,” Elladan said musingly. “From Eryn Gael to Imladris and Greenwood, no Elf with eyes has failed to see that Legolas is not as solicitous of you as others are of their spouses—including his own siblings.”

“You can hardly ask him to be as tender as Nimeithel,” Elrohir answered somewhat defensively. “He is a warrior bound to a fellow _ellon_.”—male Elf.

Elladan snorted. “As is Glorfindel yet our valiant Balrog slayer was ever as tender with Erestor as any loving wife with her husband.” When Elrohir kept silent, he pressed on. “He refuses to let you cherish him, chafes when you seek to protect him, goes off without telling you of his intentions or whereabouts.” Elladan hesitated. “He behaves as if you are but casual lovers, not binding-mates.”

“Think you I do not know that?” Elrohir said in a low, hushed voice.

“Then why do you endure it?” Elladan demanded. “You have every right to question his manner, Elrohir. His demeanor is not normal for one who is bound. ‘Tis not the way of Elfkind.” 

“One cannot force tenderness from another,” Elrohir said. “What would it accomplish for me to point out his failings? We would only quarrel needlessly.”

“Needlessly? You are no ignorant Elfling, _tôren_ ”—my brother—Elladan chided. “You know as well as I that it should not have to be forced from him; that a binding elicits such feelings effortlessly. Or it should. That he does not seem to feel the pull begs a question. What if your binding is not—?”

“Do not say it!” Elrohir said sharply, knowing as always what his twin sought to express. "'Tis agonizing enough just thinking about it. I do not need to have you speak of it in the full light of day.”

“I am sorry,” Elladan said quietly. “I only want to help.”

“I know, _gwaniaur_.”—older twin.

“You have to consider the consequences of an... error in his decision. You cannot continue thusly for all eternity.”

“That I know, too.” Elrohir closed his eyes. “Yet it matters not.”

“You love him come what may.”

“My heart is his.”

“Even if he does not cherish it as you deserve?”

“Even if he should break it, aye, it is his.”

Elladan frowned in frustration. “Elrohir—”

“Years ago, he gave me _his_ heart because he trusted me to keep it safe,” Elrohir quietly elucidated. “I never sought the same from him. Why should I now take this against him? How can I?”

Elladan stared at him, torn between bemusement and amazement. "'Tis your right, Elrohir,” he insisted.

“Leave it be, Elladan, leave it be,” the younger twin pleaded.

Elladan sighed, shaking his head. “Ah, _gwanneth_ , why is your path so oft strewn with obstacles?”

The sad smile of his brother nearly broke his heart. “Mayhap the Valar seek to test my strength in following such a path.”

“And are you indeed strong enough?”

“I have to be. For both of us.”

“Him again.” When his twin said nothing, Elladan pursed his lips. “I do not know whether to admire you or pity you,” he admitted.

“You can do both,” Elrohir softly suggested. “Elbereth knows I need all the succor I can get.”

Elladan let the argument rest though his heart beat with resentment against the friend who made his brother so unhappy. They walked on in silence, each pondering weighty thoughts.

Elrohir felt his fears rise up anew. His twin had broached a subject he had resisted opening because of its repercussions.

In the first year or so after their binding in Eryn Gael, Legolas had been as attentive a spouse as could be desired. Elrohir could not have asked for more and indeed would have been content with less. It was enough that he had finally gained what he had sought for centuries uncounted. But while the years had continued to progress, their relationship, strangely enough, had not. Legolas had changed and Elrohir had no idea why.

The Greenwood prince had always been of a fiercely independent bent, unwilling to own himself beholden to anyone in any way. His deep friendship with the twins had been the one exception that had deviated from his usual pattern of close but controlled relationships. Only with Elrond’s sons had he admitted to dependency on another. Only with them had he willingly reined in his inherent wildness of spirit. 

At only one other time had he relied as much on others and that was during the War of the Ring when singular circumstances had demanded singular behavior. But that had been but a brief and never-repeated interlude in his long warrior’s life.

Elrohir loved his wild spirit, did not desire to purge him of that admirable independence. But he had not expected the archer to embrace his old ways so much as to actually exclude him increasingly from matters outside of their binding-bed.

How often had Legolas gone off on some errand or activity with nary a word to him? This morning’s embarrassment was but one in a long line of incidents that had Elves on both ends of the Reunited Kingdom wondering about them. He did not expect the prince to ask for his permission; that was perfectly absurd. But he did expect to be informed of his own spouse’s plans or whereabouts if only out of courtesy and concern.

Then there was the all too discernable lack of consideration one expected of a bound Elf. Legolas seldom if ever displayed such tenderness for him yet apparently did not mind being on the receiving end of the same behavior. But let Elrohir exhibit even the minutest amount of protectiveness or possessiveness and at once the prince took umbrage at what he called unwarranted attentions from the Elf-knight.

Another difficulty to contend with was the archer’s increasingly short temper. It was something Elrohir found perplexing. Legolas had always been the sweetest-tempered of Thranduil’s sons yet in recent years he had grown almost as snappish and impatient as his oldest brother, Melthoron, had been once upon a time. 

He could not pinpoint the exact moment when the changes began. But he could remember when he’d become aware of it. Painfully aware.

A little less than three years ago, he’d gone to Rivendell for a half year of duty at Elladan’s side. Legolas had not been able to travel north with him and so they’d been forced apart for those six months, sustained only by the messages they’d sent each other. He’d noticed the almost desperate tone of Legolas’s letters by the latter half of his sojourn in the vale. He’d wondered at it for the archer had not been so needful of his presence during past separations. They had disturbed him enough to compel him to return to Gondor sooner than expected.

His reunion with the prince was both exhilarating and perturbing. He could still recall the turbulence of that meeting. Legolas had practically dragged him into their chamber, abruptly cutting off the gracious greetings his people had been extending to the Elf-knight. Before Elrohir even had the chance to catch his breath at such haste, the Wood-elf all but attacked him.

He’d never known Legolas to be so voracious before. Their raiment did not survive the fury of the prince’s onslaught and, for the longest while, Elrohir thought, neither would his lucidity. For Legolas had taken him with almost frightening ferocity. Even for one as experienced as the warrior, the Wood-elf’s need-fed urgency had been unprecedented and overwhelming. And he’d seen something in Legolas’s eyes that had troubled him even as he came to explosive release beneath his spouse’s wondrous form. Desire unfettered. Pure, undiluted lust. Far from the intensely loving if understandably lubricious welcomes of years past. 

Afterwards, as they lay amidst the tangled sheets and shredded remains of their clothing, he’d sought to discover what had driven his binding-mate so hardily. But Legolas dismissed the matter and only said he’d been badly in need of release. Then to add to Elrohir’s disconcertment, he’d behaved as if nothing untoward had occurred between them and for the rest of the day accorded him nothing more than cool, almost distant affection. 

Only to bed him once more that very night with that same curious needfulness and distressing lack of emotional closeness. And afterwards, left him feeling as if he’d been... used. That had been the exact moment when Elrohir realized that their relationship had begun to change even beforehand, but had been so slow and subtle in the changing he had not fully noticed its encroachment.

It had been there for some time—the erosion of the archer’s tender, caring demeanor towards his Elf-knight. Elrohir had deemed it but the effects of his sometimes burdensome responsibilities as the Elf-lord of Eryn Gael. He’d known that same feeling of being trapped by fate, duty and honor and how it could wear down one’s forbearance. And so he’d exerted more effort to soothe his spouse’s occasionally beleaguered spirit.

But matters only worsened. Soon after his latest return, he’d noticed how even the most basic displays of concern and affection due a binding-mate had diminished considerably where Legolas was concerned. 

He’d tried to get to the bottom of the prince’s reticence only to be met with anger and indignation. After several fruitless, almost shockingly vitriolic quarrels over this, he’d given up and decided to wait out Legolas’s unreasonable behavior. And wait he had. For two whole years punctuated by occasional hurtful spats. Spats brought about by any attempt on his part to resolve the problem. And in all that time, he’d felt the steady loss of the closeness they’d once shared even as friends and pledged brothers. All the way to the present. 

Only in their bed did Elrohir still derive any open affection from him yet even there…

He’d been the teacher to Legolas’s student being the more experienced in intimacy between male-kind. But in matters of dominance, he had no preference within their binding so long as it was with Legolas that he shared his body. It was not the yielding to his mate that he minded, which of late he’d had to do more and more, but that Legolas demanded it of him so peremptorily.

That troubled him greatly. There were times when he was no longer certain whether Legolas took him out of love—or to assert his primacy over him. The latter seemed more in keeping with the archer’s escalating willful demeanor. The one thing, the only thing that consoled Elrohir was an odd feeling that Legolas was not doing it on purpose. The archer seemed unaware of his unbecoming manner and would even apologize when he went too far. That is, if someone made him cognizant of going too far. 

Elrohir sighed inwardly as he came back to the present. He could not deny the truth of his brother’s comments. Elladan was right. Their binding should have triggered the age-old impulses in both of them. He felt them strongly in himself. 

The need to own and be owned. The desire to protect and cherish and seek naught but the pleasure and happiness of one’s binding-mate. The ability to depend wholly on the other and offer it in turn without shame or hesitation. Elemental urges designed to keep the flames of affection and desire between immortal lovers burning brightly for all time. Profoundly and eternally felt by Elfkind if the vows of love and fidelity were spoken with true hearts and souls.

That haunted Elrohir above all else. It seemed Legolas did not feel the pull to quite the same degree as all others did. That raised a deeply disturbing question. _Why didn’t he?_

***********************************  
Glossary:  
gwanur – brother or sister but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
melethril – female lover  
hir nîn – my lord  
muindor – brother

_To be continued…_


	3. II. Unresolved Issues

The patrol returned little more than a week later. The twin lords joined Thranduil and his older sons. Melthoron and Brethildor, at the doors of his halls, Elrohir concerned for Legolas’s well-being, Elladan itching to give the archer a piece of his mind. But all such considerations were cast aside when they saw what the Elven rangers had brought back with them.

“What in Arda—?” Brethildor gasped as he and the others beheld the human remains laid out on the frozen ground.

There were three corpses, all male. And all in attitudes of torment, glassy eyes staring in abject fright, mouths yawning open in silent screams, rigid fingers clawing or clutching at the Valar only knew what. But there was not a mark on them to indicate what had killed them save for a strange desiccated look to their flesh that made it seem like grey parchment. Yet they could not have been dead for very long for the elements to have such an effect on their bodies. Their clothes were whole and, while travel-stained, relatively new. And no beast had had the time or opportunity to despoil the bodies.

The twins knelt by the corpses and swiftly, with the supple fingers of seasoned healers, examined the bodies, fair faces creased with baffled frowns. At length, Elladan looked up and shook his head.

“We will need to make a more thorough examination of their bodies, but thus far there is nothing here to tell us what slew them,” he said. “There are no apparent wounds or blows that might have proven fatal to them.” 

“But their flesh is curiously bereft of moisture,” Elrohir remarked. “This should not be if they have only died recently.” He hesitated then placed his hand over one man’s eyes.

“ _Gwanneth..._ ” Elladan said warningly.

“I will not attempt to probe too deeply,” Elrohir assured him. At his twin’s reluctant nod, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath then went utterly still.

“What is he doing?” Brethildor asked curiously. 

“It is sometimes possible to glean something of the last thoughts of the dead if one has the gift and if death was fairly recent,” Elladan soberly explained. “Our grandmother and father had the skill and Elrohir inherited some of it.”

“Why did you caution him?” Thranduil inquired, somewhat awed that his younger law-son should possess such a talent. “Is it dangerous?”

“It can be draining,” Elladan admitted. “Particularly if one attempts to delve too long or deeply.” He turned his attention back to his brother, noting after several moments the increasingly pale cast of his skin. He sharply called him back. “Elrohir!”

The Elf-knight let out a gasp then sagged wearily against Elladan when the latter caught him in his arms. “Are you all right?” the older twin inquired worriedly.

After a few balming breaths, Elrohir nodded. He glanced at the others.

“There was not much to see,” he conceded. “The thoughts of men fade more swiftly than those of Elves. But there is some devilry at work here. This one’s last vision was of a-a woman.”

“A woman?” Thranduil repeated in puzzlement.

“Aye. It was vague. I could not make out many details. But she provoked much horror in him. He was trying to get away. At least, that is the impression I received.”

“Why would a mere woman terrify him so?” Melthoron mused. “It sounds most improbable.”

“Nevertheless, she did,” Elrohir said. “His last thoughts were of pure terror and— and pain. Great pain.”

“Yet you say there are no obvious marks of violence on any of the bodies,” Legolas commented. “Nor was there evidence of a struggle where we found them. ‘Tis as if they did not expect an assault.”

“They most likely did not until it was too late,” Elladan said slowly. He had been fingering the man’s clothing thoughtfully. “I wager they were not afraid of whoever it was that approached them. Else this man would not have rendered himself so vulnerable by coupling with his assailant.”

“What?” Thranduil exclaimed. The Elvenking moved closer to see what the older twin had discovered.

Elladan shoved aside the man’s long tunic to reveal unlaced breeches and the evidence of a carnal encounter. With a hiss, Elrohir did the same for the other corpses and found their trousers in the same state of disarray. 

Legolas frowned. “We did not notice that,” he said, obviously displeased.

“They were at their least cautious,” Elladan murmured. “It was then that their slayers struck.”

“But it still does not explain how they were killed,” Melthoron said in frustration. 

Thranduil turned back to his youngest son. “I would have the full tale, Legolas. Come, you will relate to us all that you know.”

After dismissing the rest of the troop and other onlookers, he led the way to his study in the royal pavilion. Calling for food and wine for his newly returned son, he did not question Legolas until the latter had refreshed himself. Only then did he have the archer recount what happened, everyone listening keenly for anything that might give them a clue as to what had befallen the unfortunate men.

“So, they were encamped elsewhere,” Elladan remarked when Legolas was done. “Which means they had wandered away from each other with their respective partners. Who were they and where were they heading?”

“I believe they were traders from the settlements around Hithaeglir on their way to Dale or Esgaroth,” Legolas supplied. “They had many goods with them.” 

“Did they not wonder what women would be doing all alone in such an isolated area?” Brethildor put in.

“Mayhap the women led them to believe that they were from nearby colonies.” Elrohir surmised. “Few men know that only Elves have settled the north of Greenwood. But I doubt that they cared for much beyond the quick tumble that was offered them.”

“Their lack of caution cost them their lives,” Melthoron snorted

Thranduil scowled. “I doubt this will be the end of it,” he stated. “We must be even more vigilant.” He addressed Brethildor. “Send out scouting parties to scour the north. I would know if there have been other victims of whom we are unaware. And, Melthoron, send messages to our neighbors, even to Erebor. If they do not already know something of this, I would have them warned.” 

He glanced at Legolas then noted how Elrohir’s eyes would settle more oft than not on the archer. The Elvenking’s mouth tightened. Always well informed of the goings on within his kingdom, he was not ignorant of the whispers surrounding his youngest son’s relationship with the Elf-lord nor did he think Legolas anything less than culpable for what those whispers suggested. The tale of Legolas’s precipitate and unannounced leave-taking of Elrohir had already reached his ears via the servants’ grapevine. 

And his son had not redeemed himself upon his arrival either. He had not returned Elrohir’s greeting in kind or succored him when he overtaxed himself retrieving the dead man’s last thoughts. Even now he still had not shown any outward regard for his binding-mate; an odd thing considering they’d been apart for more than a week. 

With a hint of reproof in his tone, he said to Legolas: “We will continue this later, _ion nîn_. For now, I suggest you take your rest and spend what is left of the day with Elrohir.”

Legolas started at his father’s words then glanced at Elrohir. The twin’s face remained impassive in the presence of the king but a flicker of emotion showed for an instant in his eyes. Feeling guilty, Legolas acquiesced to his father’s command.

After they had left, Elladan sighed and glanced at his law-father. “You should not have to tell him what to do, _Adar_ ”—Father—he murmured.

Thranduil, his mouth still tight, replied, “I know.” He shook his head and added, “Truth be told, I am tempted to take my hand to his backside. ‘Tis a pity he is too old for such measures.”

Such plainspoken criticism of their youngest brother elicited surprised reactions from Melthoron and Brethildor. It was a rare day when even Thranduil found Legolas’s behavior wanting.

Meanwhile, Legolas and Elrohir reached their chamber. With a relieved sigh, Legolas at once changed into fresh clothing, deferring a much longed for warm bath until after the evening meal. Elrohir watched him frowningly. At length he spoke.

“Why did you not tell me you were leaving with the patrol?” the warrior quietly asked.

Legolas shrugged. “I only thought of it when I awoke,” he said. “Since you were still asleep I decided not to disturb you.”

“You could have left a note.”

“I did not think of it.”

Elrohir pursed his lips grimly. "'Tis not pleasant having to learn of your whereabouts from someone else,” he said. 

Legolas suddenly swung around and faced him, eyes flashing. “I came here to rest, Elrohir,” he snapped. “Not to be reproached. I would very much appreciate it if you would leave me in peace.”

Twilight pools glittered dangerously. Stifling an urge to lash out with a well-deserved punch, Elrohir answered instead, “As you wish.”

Without further ado, he left the bedchamber. A surge of remorse clutched at the prince and he nearly followed. But his pride hindered him and with stubborn resolve he refrained from doing what any Elf with an ounce of sense would have done.

He saw no more of Elrohir for the rest of the day. The darkling Elf stayed away, spending his time with his twin or speaking with the rangers about the corpses, questioning them more thoroughly about the circumstances under which they had found them. If it struck the warrior Elves as odd that the Lord Elrohir should seek information from them when he could have gotten it from Prince Legolas himself, they did not give voice to it. And when he took his meals with his twin and law-sister, staying pointedly away from the prince, no one dared question that either.

So grievous was his resentment that he could not even bring himself to return to their apartment to bathe. Instead he had taken his bath in Elladan’s rooms, borrowing a robe after he was done. But seeing Nimeithel’s sleepy countenance, he knew he could not impinge on his brother’s time any longer. With a sigh, he thanked them for their forbearance and reluctantly returned to his own chambers.

Upon entering, his first thought was that the apartment was empty. But then he discerned movement in the bathing chamber and went to see if Legolas was within. He stopped at the door, unwillingly mesmerized by the sight that greeted him.

Legolas had just emerged from his own bath and now stood to one side of the room, toweling himself dry. His skin glowed golden in the candlelight, the shadows defining most succinctly the lines and shallows of his long, well-toned form. His damp mane streamed down his back like a shimmering silken curtain. 

Elrohir struggled against the reaction this image evoked in him but knew it would be in vain. He was never happy when they were not together, not since he had won the archer’s heart. Their binding had made it all the more difficult to endure being apart even for the length of a mere week. And the sheer beauty of the picture before him was no help at all.

Acknowledging the fruitlessness of further resistance, he silently approached the prince and slipped his arms around him from behind. Legolas started but quickly recognized the presence of the younger twin. He leaned back into the embrace and for a few heartbeats they remained thus, relishing the renewed closeness between them that had been aborted earlier in the day.

At length, Elrohir moved around him and pushed him gently against the wall. Wordlessly, he leaned in and captured the archer in a slow, tantalizing kiss. Legolas surrendered to it at once; the Elf-lord had always been able to unravel him with his potent kisses. Now was no exception as he felt his lips parted, his mouth invaded and explored. 

He moaned in protest when Elrohir broke the contact only to groan when the other paid attention to the side of his neck, slowly moving up its length to nuzzle his ear then trailing down once more to nibble at his throat. An unfamiliar scent pierced his senses. He shoved the robe off the twin’s shoulders impatiently.

“Take this off,” he demanded, his voice rough, for Elrohir’s tongue was now tracing a path down his chest. “It smells of Elladan!”

A husky chuckle inflamed him further. “I had thought there was no difference in our scents,” Elrohir remarked, paying particular attention to one already hard nipple even as he shrugged off the offending robe completely.

“Nay,” Legolas gasped as the Elf-knight moved even lower to lave the taut planes of his abdomen. “I can tell the difference. I will have no one else in our bed with us.”

“As to that, the bed can wait.”

Legolas shuddered as his groin was licked and his thighs gently bitten. And then he pressed hard against the wall, needing the support, when Elrohir ran his tongue along his length. It had been a long week and, Elbereth! how he had missed the dark-haired twin. Moments later, he could no longer think about anything as his mate engulfed him in the warmth of his mouth.

Elrohir was a master at such pleasuring. Long experience and a predilection for variety in his early youth had taught him more than was considered seemly even amongst Elfkind. Legolas sometimes wondered if it was a blessing or a torment or both to have so much knowledge put to good if cataclysmic use on him. 

He was soon reduced to a shaking, barely standing mass of thrumming nerves and shivery muscles grasping at Elrohir’s shoulders to brace himself. He would have gladly collapsed onto the floor for his knees had suddenly grown uncooperative and threatened to give way. But Elrohir’s strong hands and arms held him up, trapping him against the wall. And then the Elf-lord went even further, reaching up behind him and sliding a finger into his body to stroke him from within. Legolas hissed at the unexpected contact, nearly rearing but for the twin’s firm hold on his hips. 

It was too much. That suckling mouth, the swirling tongue, his stroking finger. Completion came in rolling waves of sensation that swept up and down his whole body before pooling explosively in the center of his being. With a strangled cry he spilled his release into the Elf-knight’s willing mouth. 

He would have sunk to his knees if Elrohir had not risen and caught him in his arms, a knowing smile on his handsome countenance. He clung to the twin, trying to force some semblance of order upon the sensual chaos in his mind and body. 

“That-that was quite a welcome,” he finally managed to say, his voice still ragged.

Elrohir grinned. “You’re very welcome,” he replied impishly.

Legolas looked at him with fond exasperation. “You always manage to undo me,” he said. “I doubt I will ever be able to catch up with you.”

“But I enjoy it when you try, Calenlass,” the warrior teased him. “You are a fast learner and your apprenticeships seldom last longer than the space of a night. Indeed, your mastery in swordplay is not to be belittled.”

The prince’s eyes gleamed darkly as his passion began to build anew even as his strength returned. Elrohir also had a way with words that was guaranteed to ignite his desire for the darkling Elf. It was an addiction, dangerous to the archer’s mind, that waxed with each passing year and threatened his already tenuous hold on his emotions and desires where the younger twin was concerned.

The Elven prince had come a long way since the days when he had declared he would never care for the touch of an _ellon_. Elrohir had awakened in him the long-dormant _Edhil_ duality the Greenwood Elves had tried to subdue in their need to keep their numbers substantial and formidable amidst the vagaries of life in Middle-earth. As love slowly overtook him, his initial hesitant pliancy with Elrohir progressed into willing and then eager complicity in their couplings. Their subsequent espousal had further intensified that driving desire to join their bodies and souls as often as possible. 

Unbidden, the need to reestablish control over himself came upon him. It was a need that had grown since their binding. A need he assiduously fed for fear of losing himself to the inexplicable pull he felt deep within his being whenever he was with Elrohir. Without warning, he insistently drew the warrior into the bedchamber and pushed him down onto the bed. Before Elrohir could muster a question or comment of any kind, he pinned him down with his body and sealed his mouth to the other Elf’s, effectively silencing him.

Faint alarm rang in Elrohir’s mind. He had come to recognize this pattern of sudden reaction after he pleasured the other. It invariably led to the archer demanding that he yield. Indeed, in the past year alone, the balance between them had tilted severely with Legolas taking him so often that he could actually count the times when their positions were reversed. He had the disturbing feeling that they were no longer equals in their conjugal bed and, even more troubling, that Legolas preferred it that way.

But his misgivings were swept away as the archer now paid homage to his body in turn. Despite their earlier banter, Legolas was no laggard in the love-arts. As Elrohir had observed, he was a swift apprentice and could easily reduce his spouse to a state of helpless wanting. He proceeded to do so now, hungrily claiming Elrohir with as much dexterity as the warrior had done to him but a few minutes earlier.

The Elf-knight gasped as he was mounted swiftly and arbitrarily. But as always, the mere thought that he shared himself with Legolas, that it was his golden prince who took him thus was enough to vanquish all other considerations. He gave in to the tumult within him, allowed himself to ride the crest of pleasure their joinings never failed to unleash. As both let go of all control, the binding-channel opened fully between them and their feelings flowed across unhindered. The result was a shared swathing of mounting rapture, an experience that defied all description. Elrohir reached his peak uttering one name, the only name that meant the world to him. Hearing his own name upon the archer’s lips as he, too, came to completion, further heightened his bliss. 

Legolas collapsed against Elrohir’s chest, still panting slightly. He listened to the Elf-warrior’s heartbeat as it slowly returned to its normal pace. Agile fingers tenderly raked his silver-gold tresses, untangling the silky strands. It was a soothing gesture that made him more than content to be back in the twin’s arms.

“Definitely a most apt pupil,” he heard Elrohir’s still breathy but gently teasing voice.

He raised his head and looked at the twin, liking the rosy glow of his countenance. He grinned cheekily. “I merely followed the example of a most competent teacher,” he replied.

The grey eyes were soft with affection. Whatever had disturbed the Elf-lord’s calm earlier was quiescent for now. Relieved, Legolas lay back beside him.

“Valar, ‘tis good to be back,” he commented lazily. 

Elrohir glanced at him, another smile beginning to grace his sinuous lips.

Legolas suddenly snickered. He looked at the darkling Elf, eyes twinkling with merriment. “You do not know how much I missed this,” he said. “You may count yourself fortunate that there was no Elf in the scouting party with looks to match yours. Else I might have turned to him or her for relief!”

He turned his eyes upwards to stare into the shadows of the ceiling as he spoke and thereby missed Elrohir’s startled then incredulous reaction. The twin could not believe his ears. He felt his heart grow heavy once more. Did Legolas not realize just how much such words stung?

He swallowed hard and tried to push away his doubts. Mayhap he was making too much of what was most certainly a jocular remark. But try as he might he could not dispel the pain. He could make as many excuses as he could think of but it all came down to one immutable fact. Espoused _Edhil_ never spoke thusly, not even in jest. It was regarded as execrable taste for one binding-mate to make allusions to the other’s potential for unfaithfulness; it was downright repugnant to suggest one’s own self might be tempted to it. Bound Elves’ instinctive regard for their spouses was supposed to prevent them from even bantering about something so unheard of and forbidden as infidelity within a living relationship. 

Again, worry assailed him. Why did Legolas not seem to feel this natural restraint? This was not the first time he had made such allusions; only the most recent and barefaced.

“Elrohir?” The archer’s voice cut into his troubled thoughts. “Why so quiet of a sudden?”

Elrohir tried to smile, determinedly suppressing the welling sadness that seemed to overtake him so frequently of late. He shook his head and simply said, “I was thinking how much I missed _you_ ,” placing careful emphasis on the pronoun.

It did not seem to register on the prince’s mind for he only smirked and replied, “I should hope so!”

Elrohir quelled a sigh of frustration. He gazed at the archer and quietly studied his elegant profile. The contrast between them went far beyond mere coloring and carriage. The ways of their minds and demeanor also diverged significantly. 

Elrohir, child of Eldarin Imladris, for all his ferocity and passion, was stately grace and deep learning personified. The latter was to be expected of a son of Elrond, the former a legacy of the High-elven culture of the last great haven of the Noldor in Middle-earth.

Legolas, on the other hand, though of royal blood, was as elemental as nature itself. Born of the noblest of Grey-elves, he was still a child of Greenwood. 

Thranduil was by no means an unlearned, backwoods Elf. He had lived amongst the Eldar of Lindon in his youth ere his and his kinsman Celeborn’s removal to the forests in the east where they had founded realms and ruled over the more rustic Silvan Elves. As such he had not neglected his children’s education. But much had been withheld from them because of the Greenwood kingdom’s isolation from the other elven realms. 

Lithesome as the mighty stags that roamed the forest glades, Legolas was far more innocent than Elrohir had ever been as an Elfling in fabled Rivendell. He was certainly wiser than most mere mortals due to the many years of his life and his long association with the Peredhil twins. But in comparison to Elrohir with his loremaster’s learning, he was still very much a student; an eager and able one but a student nevertheless.

Yet that did not in any way diminish his allure in Elrohir’s eyes. His heart was pure and his mind ever hungry for knowledge. And he had a zest for life that brightened his eyes from within. For these reasons and many more, the twin had come to love him as he had never loved any other, be they Elf male or maid. And always will, he admitted gravely to himself.

He reached for the prince’s hand, entwining their supple fingers fondly. “I love you, Calenlass,” he whispered. 

To his disconcertment, Legolas looked at him with amusement and said half-jokingly, “I must decline your not so subtle hint, _roch vreg_.”—wild stallion. He stretched out his lean form, sleek as a panther. “For once, I must plead exhaustion and would take some rest.” He withdrew his hand from the warrior’s clasp.

Elrohir nearly choked at the careless words and offhand manner. Trembling violently, he managed to make a reply though it took all his will not to imbue it with the acid it so fervently begged for. If he allowed his anger to surface now, Legolas would respond in kind. Elrohir was in no mood for another quarrel. Truth be told, he had neither the heart nor the energy for one this night. Indeed, day by day both dwindled as did his will to mend the ever-growing rift between them. 

"'Twas no hint for anything, Legolas,” he said tightly.

The fair-haired Elf glanced at him, puzzled by the tone of his voice. But the twin was staring impassively into the dark. A prickle of unease touched the prince. Unfortunately, the irresistible lure of much needed sleep overcame him and he dismissed it, thinking to deal with whatever the problem was in the morning.

Elrohir heard the change in his breathing as it turned into the steady rhythm that went with slumber. He closed his eyes tightly, stifling the anguished groan that longed to escape his lips. 'What has become of him?' he asked himself not for the first time. Where was the sweet and affectionate prince he had first loved as a friend, then brother, and finally as his heart’s mate?

He lay in the dark, unable to find rest, feeling incongruously alone. That wounded him keenly. To share the same bed with Legolas, to know the warmth of his body close by and still feel so utterly alone and forsaken... It was unbearable.

Silently, he slipped out of bed, pulled on a loose shirt and trousers and left the room.

oOoOoOo

It was well past the midnight hour when Legolas knocked on the door of his sister’s apartment. A few minutes later, a sleepy Elladan opened the door. He blinked woozily when he saw the archer. He came fully awake in an instant.

“Legolas, do you realize what time it is?” he scowled.

“Forgive me, _gwanur_ ,” Legolas apologized. “But Elrohir is not in our rooms and I wondered if you knew where he might be.”

The older twin stared at him a moment. Then, as if coming to a decision, he stepped back and motioned to the prince to enter the sitting room. Puzzled, Legolas did so then stopped in surprise.

There, stretched out upon the couch, was Elrohir, fast asleep. Legolas looked at Elladan in confusion. The darkling Elf answered his unvoiced question.

“He came to us a few hours ago asking if he could stay here,” he said. “He said he did not want to be alone.”

The statement was like a slap to the archer. “But he was not alone!” he exclaimed in a hushed voice, conscious of his slumbering sister in the chamber beyond.

“Mayhap he felt like it,” Elladan pointed out.

“But why?”

Elladan glowered at his friend, wondering if he was truly unknowing of the distress he had caused Elrohir or if he was being deliberately obtuse.

“Were you happy to come home to him?” he challenged the other.

Legolas stared at the older twin in surprise. “Of course I was. He knows I missed him.”

“Nay, you told him you missed your couplings. There is a world of difference between missing someone and missing an act that can be easily assuaged by any willing body.”

Legolas started, recalling his jape. “Is that what drove him here?” he said incredulously. "'Tis uncommonly sensitive of him to take offense at a mere jest.”

Elladan hissed with exasperation. First Nimeithel, now Legolas. But at least his wife had the mood swings wrought by her pregnancy to blame for her sometimes unruly tongue. Otherwise, she was very much aware of the indecorousness of such talk and never intentionally spoke thus to him. What excuse did Legolas have? 

“Uncommonly sensitive?” he growled, his eyebrows rising in anger. “And would you be so calm had he told you that in your absence he'd been tempted to take some withy maid or strapping Elf to bed?”

Legolas paused then shook his head, acknowledging the older twin’s point. 

“Elves do not jest about such things,” Elladan pressed on caustically. “Not if we care for our loved ones’ feelings. I am surprised you do not know this.” 

The prince stayed silent, Elladan’s rebuke striking him to the core. Elladan exhaled, willing his anger to fade and not quite succeeding. “You left him with nary a word,” he chided. “He had to learn of your departure from a servant during breakfast. Have you any idea how humiliating that was for him? An Elf who does not know where his spouse is?”

Legolas blanched guiltily. He had barked at Elrohir for voicing the same sentiment. Then hardly had the Elf-knight tried to mend matters between them when he had hurt him once more with his thoughtless sally.

“Will he come back with me?” he asked hesitantly. 

Elladan heaved a frustrated sigh. “I do not know. It would depend on—” He regarded the prince acidly. “Tell me something, _gwanur_ x—when was the last time you told him you love him?”

The broad hint was not lost on the archer. He flinched inwardly once more. _I love you, Greenleaf_ , the younger twin had said earlier. His response had been worse than inadequate. It had been downright criminal. 

Seeing his law-brother’s reaction, Elladan shook his head and said with a touch of aspersion: “I thought as much. Ah, Legolas, you astound me with your unending capacity to hurt him.” He silently retreated into the bedchamber leaving behind a shocked prince.

Chastened, Legolas softly approached his sleeping _bereth_ and knelt before him. Uncertain how to rouse him, he settled instinctively on a warm kiss. Elrohir moaned then opened his eyes confusedly. They widened in surprise when he beheld the prince.

“Please come back,” Legolas softly implored him. When the twin hesitated, he added pleadingly, "'Tis lonely without you.”

After another pause, Elrohir finally nodded and rose along with the prince. They silently walked the short distance to their apartments. 

Uneasy at Elrohir’s demeanor, Legolas sought to dispel the uncomfortable silence between them. Once within, he stopped the Elf-knight from slipping back into their bed and took his hands in his, squeezing them earnestly. He peered into the twilight eyes with anxiety.

“What I said earlier was in jest, Aduial,” he said. “I know it was in ill-taste and should never have been uttered, but I swear it was nothing more than that. You are the only one I could ever want, Elrohir. Indeed, I missed you these past many days, I truly did.” 

The warrior remained pensive. “If you say so,” Elrohir briefly answered. 

Legolas winced at the passive response. Recalling the older twin’s pointed assertions, Legolas realized how correct Elladan had been about his behavior and Elrohir’s feelings. 

He cupped the warrior’s face, made his spouse look at him. “My actions were unconscionable,” he admitted. “Please forgive me.” He felt the sting of remorse smite him when Elrohir’s eyes failed to regain their argent light. “I love you, my Elf-knight,” he whispered fervently. “Never doubt that I do.” He sealed his mouth to Elrohir’s in as tender a kiss as he could muster. 

For a moment, Elrohir hesitated. How often had they gone through this before? Always the prince would try to repair whatever damage he had inflicted upon their relationship but he did it piecemeal and it never lasted. Sooner or late, there would be another confrontation and they would repeat the same process all over again. And still he had no explanation for his mate’s behavior. How could he when Legolas refused to speak of it and any attempt to discuss the problem only resulted in discord? 

But in the end, he could not resist Legolas’s overtures. He had meant it when he told Elladan his heart belonged to the prince. Even if he shredded it to bits and cast the pieces into the deeps of the sea. He curled his arms around Legolas and pulled him flush against him. When the archer pressed into him invitingly, he did not resist and allowed Legolas to draw him down onto their bed. 

For this night at least, he forgot his worries as the heated sweetness of their joining numbed his mind and caressed his soul.

***************************  
Glossary:  
ion nîn – my son  
ellon – male Elf  
Edhil - Elven, Elves  
Calenlass - Greenleaf  
gwanur – brother or sister but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
bereth - spouse  
Aduial - Twilight 

_To be continued…_


	4. III. Conundrum

The scouts returned with reports of more mysteriously slain victims in the northern reaches of the forest and on the less travelled trails that skirted the borders of Greenwood. All bore the same lack of discernable marks that might indicate the cause of their deaths.

The messengers returned from the eastern settlements, the south of the forest and Dale and Esgaroth with letters of acknowledgement. None knew anything of such strange slayings and were therefore all the more grateful for the Elves’ warnings. But the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain had a different reply and it was delivered personally.

“Gimli!”

Legolas delightedly and rapidly approached his friend as soon as he entered the great hall. Gimli immediately stiffened defensively.

“Keep your distance, Elf!” he exclaimed in alarm. “I’ll have no confounded hugging for a welcome!”

The Elven prince laughed out loud and came to a stop before him. Chuckling, he laid an affectionate hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder. In turn, Gimli grinned and patted the Elf’s arm warmly.

“You have not changed at all, Gimli, thank Eru,” Legolas smiled. “But what are you doing up north? Last we heard you were delving a new hall at Aglarond.”

“You’re not the only one who misses kith and kin on occasion,” Gimli retorted. “But if you must know, my father has been somewhat poorly this past year and I thought to spend time with him. He is quite old after all.”

Legolas nodded. “Aye, but still a most redoubtable Dwarf nonetheless.” He eyed his friend curiously. “You did not come here just to pay me a visit.”

Gimli shook his head. “I bear tidings that may have much to do with the warning you sent my people.”

“Indeed. Then you must speak of it at once to my father. Come, my friend.”

Gimli’s tale was indeed much related to the Elves’ grisly discoveries. As he recounted it to the Elvenking, his sons and law-sons in Thranduil’s study, the others were seen to shift uneasily in their seats as the eerie story unfolded.

Just a few weeks past, a party of Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain had stumbled across two of their fellows on the scarcely used road that wound its way around the foothills of the Ered Mithrin. There was seldom any use for the old road nowadays for few cared to brave the perils of orcs and bandits who made the Grey Mountains their haunt. But Dwarves still traversed the path that led them close to one of their former homes. It was more sentimentality than anything else though a Dwarf would rather perish than admit to this. And being of a hardy race, they were not easily cowed by the dangers posed by orkish or human brigands.

Thus, they had been startled by the appearance of the two travelers. Both had looked more dead than alive, their eyes strangely vacant, their bodies oddly drawn, as if something had been drained from them. And they had babbled incessantly and incoherently about their assailants. Mortal women. What these women had done to them was not clear but they had somehow managed to escape with their lives still flickering though severely diminished. Both had since lost consciousness and now slept, if one could call such unfeeling, undreaming oblivion sleep. 

Careful questioning of the Dwarf-lord elicited the information that neither victim had been propositioned as the mannish victims consistently were. They’d apparently been attacked as they made their way along the road. And, no, it had not been a large group that waylaid them. Their ramblings seemed to indicate two women at most. 

The Dwarves had not known what to make of the outlandish babbling of the two until Thranduil’s warning arrived. Realizing the incident might actually be part of a string of several and recent occurrences, they had sent Gimli to discover what he might from his Elven friends.

Silence reigned for several minutes as the Elves pondered his news. At length, Elrohir spoke.

“Curious,” he murmured. “If your kinsmen were waylaid by the same creatures that slew the victims we have thus far discovered, ‘tis puzzling why they did not succumb but were merely drained as you put it.”

“Aye, that is indeed a puzzle,” Gimli agreed. “Might it have something to do with our being of another race?”

“It might,” Thranduil mused. “Your kindred is stronger and more enduring than Man-kind. Mayhap you are more resistant to whatever means they employ to kill their victims.”

Elladan glanced at his brother. Elrohir had risen to walk to the map that graced one wall of the study. It was a beautifully and accurately rendered map of Middle-earth. The younger twin began to trace a path with his finger along the northernmost reaches of Eryn Lasgalen all the way to the deserted road by the Ered Mithrin.

“What is it, _gwanneth_?”—younger twin—he asked.

Elrohir stared at the map for a few seconds before looking back at them. “All the incidents occurred in the north, whether on the forest paths or open roads, and all involved travellers moving between the eastern settlements and Dale and Esgaroth. No attacks have happened deep within Eryn Lasgalen or in the hearts of the towns and cities.”

“Meaning?” Brethildor inquired.

“It would seem they are yet limited in number that they hesitate to invade populous communities.”

“Aye, that is an idea,” Elladan said. He joined his brother before the map. “But where do they conceal themselves? Whatever they may be, they must have a haven to retreat to.”

“Might these killers hide themselves amongst their kindred?” Gimli suggested.

“Possible,” Thranduil remarked. 

“But improbable,” Elrohir said. “There has not been a single incident outside of this specific area, which is already a fearsome distance from other mannish settlements. Yet there are plentiful byways to the west and east wherein to ambush unsuspecting wayfarers. Nay, our slayers have confined themselves to this particular region as of now. It stands to reason therefore that they also conceal themselves in the same area.”

Legolas glanced from one twin to the other. The brethren had directed their gazes at one focal point on the map.

“The mountains?” he said sharply. “Do you believe they hide themselves in the Ered Mithrin?”

Elladan nodded. “No one now enters the mountains for any reason other than concealment as the orcs and brigands do.”

“Though there has been a dearth of banditry in recent years,” Elrohir quietly put in. “And the disappearances of women have ceased as well.”

There was a concerted gasp. “You think those two events are related?” Thranduil said.

“I cannot claim anything with certitude,” Elrohir replied. “But it seems too much of a coincidence that soon after these disappearances should stop, these killings should begin. And both cases involve women. The first as victims, the second as predators. Couple this with the sudden halt in incursions by the outlaws who long frequented the Grey Mountains and one might surmise that there is a connection somewhere.”

“The outlaws may have been the first victims,” Melthoron choked. “Ah, that is a sound conjecture, _gwanur_.” 

“And a frightening one,” Thranduil said grimly.

oOoOoOo

They continued to discuss the matter during the noonday meal. After explaining the situation to his wife, Elladan joined his twin in analyzing everything they had learned so far while Legolas and Gimli contributed their own ideas now and again.

At length, Elladan noticed the odd gleam in Elrohir’s eyes. “What have you got in mind?” he queried.

Elrohir pursed his mouth musingly. “I believe a trip to the Ered Mithrin is warranted,” he replied. “We knew the mountains long ago, _gwaniuar_. Best we put our memories to good use now.

Nimeithel frowned. “You would dare so perilous an undertaking?” she objected. “ _Hervenn!_ ”—husband.

Elladan clasped her hand but, before he could speak, Elrohir forestalled him. “I did not say we would both go. I will do this alone.” At Elladan’s indignant protests, he added, “Nimeithel is very near her time. She will need you close by, _tôren_.”—my brother.

Elladan snorted. “And what good would I be worrying about you _and_ the possibility that whatever evil is out there may reach out to harm my wife and child?” He looked seriously at Nimeithel. “ _Melethril_ , I do not desire to leave your side, but neither can I allow Elrohir to go alone. Not when this mystery needs solving and soon. We must not allow more lives to be claimed if we can help it.”

Nimeithel bit her lip then nodded resignedly. Legolas, however, covered Elrohir’s hand with his and declared: “I will go with you.”

Elrohir shook his head. “I would not put you in such danger, Legolas,” he said. “You already faced almost certain ruin when you left on the Quest. No one should embark on such an endeavor twice in his life.”

Legolas’s eyes flashed warningly. “You would ask me to let you face danger without me?” he retorted. “I cannot, Elrohir. I will not endure lurking in craven safety while my mate stalks evil and possible death.” His grip on Elrohir’s hand tightened. “My path lies with you, Aduial, even unto the end of life. I will go with you.” 

Elrohir gazed at him in some surprise. Such displays of the prince’s love for him had grown so increasingly infrequent that any took him quite aback. And touched him so deeply his heart and soul willingly set aside whatever misgivings they harbored. He caught Elladan’s dubious expression and chose to ignore it. 

“Thank you, Calenlass,” he softly said with a gentle smile. For some reason, it made Legolas blush and he wondered anew at his mate’s mercurial moods.

Gimli harrumphed at this point. “Well then, when do we leave?”

Legolas looked at him with upraised eyebrows. “We?”

Gimli turned a pugnacious countenance upon him. “You need someone to keep an eye on you young ‘uns.”

“Young!” Legolas nearly choked on the word, caught as he was between mirth and umbrage.

“Well, not in years perhaps,” Gimli declared. “But sometimes, _you_ give me cause to wonder if you’ve ever really grown up!”

Nimeithel burst into laughter at her brother’s patently offended mien. Elladan smirked with just the barest trace of malice while Elrohir grinningly squeezed his discomfited mate’s hand.

They informed Thranduil of their plans immediately after the meal. The Elvenking was not overly pleased but, being of a practical bent of mind, he also knew he could not dissuade them and that he should not. They needed answers and if these were to be found in the Grey Mountains, then that is where they would have to go. Not that he cared to sacrifice his son or sons-by-law in the process but, as they, he knew and accepted the burdens of duty and honor. And so he gave them his blessings however grudging the giving may have been in his love and concern for them.

Later when he and Legolas returned to their chamber, Elrohir was surprised anew. He was reaching for his weapons to ready them for the journey when the archer stopped him. He glanced at Legolas questioningly.

“Why did you think I would agree to be left behind?” the prince queried. “Since when have I cared to be parted from you?”

Elrohir gazed at him for a space before answering. Such declarations from the archer further cemented his conviction that whatever drove Legolas to behave otherwise at other times was not something he was fully cognizant of. Hence, Elrohir’s never faltering love for him even when he yearned at times to put distance between them.

“I once watched you walk into gathering darkness,” he quietly replied. “I do not wish to do so again.”

Legolas frowned. “I am as much a warrior as you,” he reminded his spouse. “Neither of us can refuse our duty even if it should demand our very lives.”

“But I am also a _bereth_ and I cannot deny my heart’s desire to keep you safe and happy,” Elrohir gently pointed out.

“That is absurd, Elrohir,” Legolas said, his voice taking on a slight edge. “I will not have anyone shield me, not even you.”

“Yet shield you I will, whether you wish it or not, _seron vell_ ”—beloved —Elrohir replied. “I cannot help myself anymore than you can stop breathing.” 

Legolas opened his mouth to retort. But he suddenly saw Elrohir’s eyes change from open to wary and became aware that the Elf-knight was readying himself for a verbal battle. The prince flushed uncomfortably. Contrary to general opinion, he was not wholly oblivious of the strain in their relationship or that he was oft responsible for it.

“I suppose you are right,” he muttered. He turned away abruptly to see to his own preparations. But he did not turn away swiftly enough to avoid seeing the pensiveness return to Elrohir’s eyes. 

After a few minutes of awkward silence, he paused and looked back at the warrior. Elrohir had abandoned his initial intent to bring out his weapons and had walked onto the balcony instead. He was staring down at the cold-withered gardens, obviously attempting to regain his composure. Legolas bit his lip. He had not meant to be so sharp in his reaction. It was just that he so disliked being coddled in any manner.

A flutter of fear hit the pit of his stomach. He was always uneasy when Elrohir drew away from him as he did now. He’d been keeping secrets from his binding-mate and knew that this had contributed to their present troubles. Yet proud as he was he could not bring himself to speak of the matter that had upended all his notions of his very self. It was simply too discomfiting a thing to admit even to his beloved Elf-knight. 

Sighing, he followed Elrohir and, coming up behind him, wrapped his arms around the warrior and pulled him back against him. To his intense relief and thankfulness, the twin did not resist or pull away but relaxed into the embrace. 

“I can take care of myself, Aduial,” he murmured. “Surely you know that.”

Elrohir half turned his head to regard him sideways. “I do,” he said softly. “If I desire to protect you, ‘tis because I love you. I cannot bear seeing you take any hurt no matter how much I esteem your prowess.” He hesitated then plunged on. “Why can you not accept this from me, Legolas?”

He felt the lean arms around him stiffen and he steeled himself for yet another confrontation. But then Legolas perceptibly forced down his tension and pressed his lips against his neck. The sensation made him shiver involuntarily.

“I will try.”

The offer was muted and oh so reluctantly made but that it had been made at all was cause enough for Elrohir to smile. He still did not know what had altered Legolas’s demeanor these past few years. But moments such as this buoyed his spirit enough to strengthen his resolve to uncover the reason behind his mate’s waywardness and, the Valar willing, heal whatever ailed him and their relationship.

He turned in Legolas’s arms and sealed his lips to the archer’s, catching him by surprise. After a few heart-stopping moments, he drew away and peered into Legolas’s now darkened eyes. 

“And now whither?” he archly inquired.

Legolas’s eyes deepened to indigo. 

“Bed,” said he and promptly pulled Elrohir back into the privacy of their chamber.

*****************************  
Glossary:  
gwanur – brother or sister but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
gwaniuar – older twin  
melethril – female lover  
bereth – spouse; husband or wife

_To be continued…_


	5. IV. Traces

The twins led the way once they reached the Ered Mithrin. Centuries ago, the brethren had dared to explore this region in their vengeance-driven questing against orcs and their ilk. Thus, they alone knew something of the mountains that were said to harbor dragons to this day though no worm had evidenced itself since Smaug’s demise over Esgaroth more than a century ago. Even Gimli had not visited the Dwarves’ old realm in Mt. Gundabad though he had read and heard extensively about it. Thus, he depended as much on the twins as Legolas did. Their long experience tracking orcs even in the most hostile of places now served them in good stead as they wended their way through the frozen and barren hillocks and canyons of the Grey Mountains. 

Whether astride their steeds on wide pathways or leading the animals through narrow passes, they followed the scanty clues their trained eyes espied here and there. Footprints captured in the now cold, rock-hard soil, distinctly non-orkish in shape and size. Long strands of hair caught on low-lying branches. Torn patches of diaphanous fabric snagged on thorny bushes. As they progressed deeper into the mountains, one thing became ever clearer. More than orcs had traversed these paths but not one human brigand had yet evinced his existence. Who then other than the goblins called this desolate place home? 

On this peril-fraught journey, Gimli proved a most stalwart companion if a vociferous one when it came to impugning the merits of the beast he and Legolas rode. Never having learned to be completely at ease upon a horse, he was understandably annoyed at having to ride one now if only to keep up with his friends. It did not help matters that he did not even have the dubious security of a saddle for his peace of mind since all three Elves, as was the fashion of their kindred, rode bareback and relied not on bit or reins to control their mounts.

However, he was not in the least troubled by the region’s isolation or weighed down by its melancholic atmosphere as his companions were. In this he proved most invaluable, raising their spirits by regaling them with one humorous story or another. And of these tales he had a great store. As such they were all in a much lighter frame of mind by the time they reached the quarter mark up the mountains’ main trail.

It was not exactly the safest route to take for orcs used it frequently. But the clues they had so far found led them along this road and so they followed it but with utmost caution. Always one remained on watch while the others rested and never did they relax their guard even for an instant so long as they stayed on this path.

On the fifth night of their journey, they made camp some distance away from the trail for it would be fatally foolhardy to remain close by especially at a time when orcs were sure to be abroad.

While the others made ready to sleep, Elrohir sought higher ground from which he could view their surroundings. He walked up a low tree-crowned hill several paces away. He was surprised when Legolas joined him.

“You should get some rest,” he told his mate.

“I will,” Legolas replied. ‘But I need to do something first.”

“And that is?”

“This.”

The Elf-knight gasped as he was suddenly thrust against a sturdy tree and kissed into silence. A moment later, he was shocked when he felt Legolas’s fingers swiftly undoing the lacing on his breeches and even more shocked when the prince pressed hard against him and he realized the latter’s breeches were already undone. He managed to break the kiss long enough to speak.

“Legolas, why are you doing this?” he whispered roughly.

“What other reason can there be?” the prince retorted. “It has been a week since we last coupled, Aduial, and I am nigh ready to burst!” He hungrily reclaimed the warrior’s mouth.

His words had the desired effect of bringing Elrohir’s shaft to swift and potent arousal. Yet when Legolas released his lips to nibble at his throat, he made one last stab at rationality. 

“I am supposed to be on watch,” he protested. Legolas lifted his golden head.

“Not at the moment,” he smugly informed him. “I asked Elladan to give us a few minutes together.” Elrohir’s eyes widened at the archer’s brazenness. “So, are you going to cooperate or not?” Legolas purred challengingly.

Elrohir growled, grasped him by the hips and hauled him back. There was no chance for a full coupling here but the warrior was more than talented at other forms of pleasuring. Even as he captured the archer’s lips in a pillaging kiss, he wickedly ground their groins together, sliding their turgid lengths against each other in sensual abandon. Jolting bursts of sheer sensation sparked throughout their bodies until Legolas was moaning with the ecstasy of it. He groaned with frustration when the Elf-knight drew away slightly, grey eyes alight with a rakish gleam.

“Ah, do not torment me, Elrohir!” he nearly snarled. “Finish it now!”

With breath-stealing skill, Elrohir complied and before very long Legolas spent himself with a hoarse cry, his seed mingling with the Elf-knight’s as the other came to completion on the heels of his. Leaning against the tree for support, Elrohir gathered his prince against him. For a minute or so, they remained thus while awaiting the slowing of their breathing and heartbeats.

At length, Legolas looked up and, with a sweet smile Elrohir had not seen in so very long, stole a kiss from the twin. His smile turned into a satisfied grin.

“ _Now_ you’re on watch,” he said.

Elrohir chuckled and released him. They straightened up and swiftly fastened their breeches, laughing softly at the telltale stains that marked them. After one more deep kiss, Legolas returned to the others. Elrohir watched him vanish into the dark with brightened eyes. He could not deny he was much heartened by his spouse’s actions. He settled into his watch with considerably more enthusiasm. 

Hours later he hurried down the hill and hastened to the others. For the past several minutes he had been patently uneasy. From his perch, he’d seen nothing suspicious but sensed it he did. Something was wrong and he was not about to wait for it to happen. 

He was within shouting distance of the camp when he felt the veriest cold shiver upon his nape. Instinctively he ducked. Just as a black bladed dagger winged across where his head had previously been and embedded itself in the tree to his side. Suddenly, more than two dozen orcs sprung from the shadows. 

“Legolas! Elladan! Gimli!” Elrohir cried out even as he swung his sword at a goblin, cleanly slicing off its head.

Legolas was off his back like a shot, hands fitting arrows to bow in a blur of movement. He took down several of the creatures before he was fully standing.

An orc pounced on Elladan only to be impaled by the warrior Elf’s outthrust sword. Elladan jumped to his feet and slashed swiftly at two more of the creatures, taking off the arm of one and the hand of the other.

Gimli, slower to rise than the Elves, wasted no time stumbling to his feet but grabbed his axe and swung hard at a goblin as it flung itself at him. He had the grim satisfaction of watching its head fly in the opposite direction from its body before applying himself to ridding a few others of their heads or limbs.

The melee was fast and furious. Though surprisingly well-armored and bearing curiously elegant weapons, the orcs were no match for the Elven warriors and their Dwarf friend. More accustomed to ambushing unwary travellers or raiding poorly defended hamlets, these goblins were ferocious but hardly skilled in combat. In minutes, the small clearing was littered with stinking corpses and various mismatched heads and appendages. The victors took a moment to catch their breaths before moving to sift through the remains to discern if these orcs had anything to do with their mission.

Elladan lifted one of the enemy swords in puzzlement; ran his fingers over the black breastplate of a fallen goblin.

“This is wrought from galvorn,” he remarked. He tossed the sword to Elrohir who examined it with great interest. 

“I beg your pardon, but what is galvorn?” Gimli inquired, brow creased in perplexity.

“It was a metal invented by the Elven-smith, Eöl, in the First Age,” Elladan explained.

“The First Age?” Gimli echoed with some amazement.

The Elf-lord nodded. “It was as hard as steel even when thin and was ideal for armor.” He nudged the orc on the ground before him with his foot. “Were these goblins more skilled, we would have been hard-put to best them, protected as they were.”

“But how did these orcs get hold of such weapons?” Elrohir wondered, as he admiringly hefted the sword. “Galvorn is all but legend now. The secret of its making is believed to have died with Eöl.”

“Perhaps they were plundered from the ruins of your ancient elven cities,” Gimli suggested.

“Nay, these are of recent make,” Elrohir said. “And the only extant example left of a weapon wrought of this metal in the Elder Days is in Círdan’s halls at the Grey Havens, left by the last survivors of Gondolin.” 

“Er, Gondolin?” Gimli repeated. “Forgive me but I know little of your people from those days. Why Gondolin?”

“Eöl was wed to Aredhel, sister of Turgon, king of Gondolin,” Elrohir said.

“Was he?” Legolas questioned. “The tale I heard in Greenwood is that he took her by force.”

Elladan shrugged. “The truth is lost in the mists of time. But she lived willingly enough with him for many years to give credence to his claim that she was his wife.”

“Why did he have to make a claim?” Gimli asked, getting more and more confused.

Taking pity on the Dwarf, Elrohir elucidated the matter more thoroughly. “Eöl was one of Thingol of Doriath’s kin who chose not to reside within the Girdle of Melian.” When Gimli nodded his comprehension of that part of elven history, he continued. “Aredhel wandered into the forest of Nan Elmoth, which Eöl called home. ‘Tis said he lured her to him and took her as wife. More than that no one knows. She bore him a son but later abandoned him and returned to Gondolin with their child. When he followed them and came nigh to the city, he was captured and brought before Turgon. At the time, it was forbidden for anyone who came upon Gondolin to leave the city again lest its location became known to Morgoth. Turgon gave Eöl the choice to remain in the city with his family or face death. He chose death but also attempted to kill his son with a poisoned dart. Aredhel took the dart, sickened and died. And so they threw Eöl from the Caragdûr. ‘Tis said that before he fell he cursed his son for having turned against him.”

“And that last weapon at the Havens?”

“It belonged to his son, Maeglin,” Elladan put in. “Recovered after he was cast from the Caragdûr by Tuor.” At Gimli’s startled expression, the older twin added: “He betrayed Gondolin to Morgoth and brought about the city’s ruin. It seems he nursed a passion for our foremother, Idril, Turgon’s daughter.”

“But you Elves do not wed with such close kin,” Gimli mused.

“Exactly. It was a forbidden passion fed not least by ambition. I wager he hoped to gain the throne of Gondolin by a marriage to his uncle’s sole heir. But she married Tuor of the Third House of the _Edain_ and he was frustrated in his desire. It played no small part in his betrayal of his people for he tried to take Idril when she fled the sack of the city with her son by Tuor, our grandsire, Eärendil. But Tuor caught him and they battled on the walls and, at the last, he was thrown down the slopes of the Amon Gwareth as his father had been before him.”

Gimli grimaced. “That is a grim tale,” he commented. “I had read of Gondolin’s fall but not of the treachery that wrought it.”

Elladan picked up another sword and swung it experimentally. It was perfectly balanced and wickedly sharp to boot. 

“There is another mystery here that needs answering,” he said. “An enemy who possesses such knowledge would be formidable.”

“What do you think then?” Gimli grunted. “Do these scum have aught to do with the women we seek?”

“Too soon to say,” Elrohir replied. “Though the very notion sends a chill up my spine. If these orcs and those women answer to one master—" He shook his head. “'Tis a daunting thought.”

_To be continued…_


	6. V. Blow Up

Abandoning the main trail, which they now deemed much too hazardous despite their need, they made use of the less-travelled byways. Every so often one of the twins would return to the trail to seek clues as to where the non-orkish denizens of the mountains most often headed. A pattern soon emerged and they journeyed in a northeastern direction. 

Three days after their encounter with the orc band, they set up camp in a relatively secure glade far from any of the mountain paths. Here they would rest for a spell and get their bearings. Even the twins needed a respite from relentless tracking. But they still maintained their guard, constantly conscious that they were in enemy territory and an enemy of whom they knew next to nothing at that.

It was on the morning of their second day of encampment that trouble of another sort broke out. Elrohir awoke to find Legolas gone. The prince had taken the last watch of the previous night.

Alarmed, he roused the others and, after a quick perusal of the grounds, swiftly picked up the archer’s faint trail. Leaving Elladan and Gimli behind to guard the camp, he raced off. He had not gone far when he saw the archer poised on a high ridge, partially hidden by the bare branches of a stunted tree. He was watching something.

Elrohir sucked in his breath as a half-dozen goblins came into sight. They were hurrying along a narrow track just below, oblivious of the Elf warrior who watched them with cold blue eyes. He gasped as Legolas raised his bow.

Cursing beneath his breath, he sprinted toward the prince, grabbed him by the arm before he could loose his arrow and hauled him down. Legolas could not help a soft startled yelp. Immediately the orcs stopped and looked up in their direction. Elrohir let out a shrill birdcall, hoping the orcs would not perceive the difference between it and Legolas’s earlier cry. The two Elves lay as still as possible. At length, they heard the orcs move off, the heavy thuds of their trudging, dragging feet fading into silence.

They stood up and peered carefully about them. There were no orcs in sight. Elrohir’s ruse had worked. 

He took Legolas by an arm and pulled him back to the camp. “Valar! What were you thinking?” he demanded. “Why did you come here?”

Legolas frowned, disliking the warrior’s brusque manner. “I heard them approaching and thought to waylay them before they discovered our location,” he said.

Elrohir scowled. “They were not even aware of our presence. You would have called their attention to it had I not stopped you. That was a needless chance you took, Legolas.”

Legolas bristled at the apparent criticism. “I did what I deemed best,” he retorted. “I feared they would pass our way and alert the rest of their band. Better to deal with that small number than a whole den’s worth!”

“Better not to deal with them at all if we can help it!” Elrohir countered. “We are far from help and ‘twould be wiser to avoid any confrontations if we can.”

“This from one who took on whole tribes of orcs in his days of errantry!” Legolas almost taunted.

Elrohir felt his temper begin to flare. “Elladan and I never took on more than we knew we could handle! As you know full well, Legolas!”

“And I could have taken on that pitiful group as you know full well, Elrohir!”

“A witless risk to my mind. I will not have you imperil yourself so readily!” 

By now they had reached the camp. Elladan and Gimli looked at them in consternation upon hearing their less than civil exchange. Legolas was in a veritable stew, his pride struck hard by Elrohir’s interference. He yanked his arm out of his mate’s grip and faced him, eyes flashing angrily.

“I am not a child for you to whisk away at the first whiff of danger!”

“Nor am I a fool to let you plunge into peril mindlessly!”

“I am a warrior, _Edhel_. I will not be treated thusly!”

Elladan rolled his eyes and signaled to Gimli to follow him. The Dwarf stared at him in surprise then worriedly glanced back at the arguing pair. 

“We cannot leave them like this!” he protested. “Let us make them see reason.”

Elladan placed a firm hand on his shoulder and insistently propelled him away from the vicinity.

“Never come between two quarrelling Elves,” Elladan grimly advised him. “Especially if one is a Peredhel and the other a Thranduilion.”

“But what if orcs—?”

“We will stand watch. In the meantime, ‘tis best to let them have it out.” When Gimli still hesitated, he added: “Would you bear witness to what they might say to each other?”

Gimli heaved an exasperated sigh and allowed Elladan to lead him out of earshot of the pair. 

Meanwhile, Elrohir and Legolas’s verbal battle had not abated one whit. If anything, it seemed in danger of escalating further.

“Our binding does not give you the right to dictate to me what I may or may not do!” Legolas blasted at the twin.

“But it does give me the right to protect you when I feel the need to do so!” Elrohir countered acidly.

Legolas exclaimed vexedly: “Elbereth! How did I ever wind up with a jailer for a binding-mate?!”

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You should know, Legolas,” he retorted, “since ‘twas you who begged that we bind to each other.”

Legolas took umbrage at such a charge. “I would never lower myself to beg for anything,” he spat irately. “And certainly not from an overbearing, half-breed Elf!” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Legolas knew he’d made a potentially fatal mistake. Elrohir’s face whitened and his mouth tightened ominously. His eyes blazed with unholy rage. Legolas attempted to stave off the onslaught of the darkling Elf’s fury.

“Elrohir, I did not—”

He did not get to finish the sentence. With a snarl, Elrohir tackled him to the ground. Instinctively, he fought back and they rolled on the withered grass, wrestling savagely for mastery. But Elrohir had the advantage of his anger to aid him. After a brief struggle, he forced Legolas onto his stomach, grabbed his arms and pinioned them at an angle designed to break them if the archer attempted to free himself.

He bore down on the prince, using the full length of his body to pin the other down. Legolas bit back a cry of pain as the ache in his arms worsened from Elrohir’s merciless hold on them. He felt the twin’s warm breath against his ear, felt the raven tresses brush his nape and cheeks.

“Get off me!” he howled furiously.

“Why, Legolas?” Elrohir hissed tauntingly. “Does it gall you to lie beneath a _half-breed Elf_?” 

The archer froze at the bitter words. He attempted to speak. “‘Tis not—” 

Elrohir cut him off. “Has it been a torment to you all these years, _ernilen_?”—my prince—he seethed. “To be bedded by a mere Peredhel? To be taken by an Elven mongrel, a lowly _adanedhel_?" 

Shocked, Legolas protested vehemently. “Nay, that is not so! I – ah, Elrohir, you will break my arm!” he said through gritted teeth.

For an agonizing moment, he thought his left arm would snap. And then, Elrohir abruptly released his arms and got off him in one fluid motion.

Legolas painfully pushed himself off the ground, panting slightly. He glanced at Elrohir. The twin was sitting cross-legged, arms resting loosely on his thighs, his dark head bowed. Tentatively, Legolas reached out to touch him but the Elf-lord pulled back his arm, evading his hand. Vaguely alarmed Legolas crept to him and knelt before him. He stared wordlessly at his mate.

Raw hurt radiated from the Elf-knight’s hunched form. Legolas cringed inwardly, regretting his harshly spoken words. 'What has become of me? I am no better than Melthoron in his arrogant youth,' he thought, recalling his once ill-tempered brother’s vile tongue. He held his breath when Elrohir raised his head to look at him. His twilight eyes glittered and his cheeks were streaked with silent tears. Legolas could have whipped himself for hurting the Elf-warrior so grievously that he would weep before him.

“I am sorry I hurt you,” Elrohir whispered. 

Legolas flinched at the apology. He shook his head. "'Tis I who should ask for forgiveness,” he said contritely.

Elrohir did not seem to hear him. He lowered his eyes once more, stared unseeingly at his hands. 

“Elladan and I were called many things by those who thought themselves our betters,” he murmured, his voice low and dull. “They did not trouble me for I cared nothing for their opinion or esteem. But I never thought that you—” He broke off as his voice caught and he shuddered visibly.

“I did not mean it,” Legolas said remorsefully. '"Twas my anger that spoke, not my heart.“

The darkling Elf heaved a sorrowful sigh. “Bound but for ten years and already you rue it.” 

Shocked into speechlessness by the allegation, Legolas could only stare at him. He reached out to take Elrohir’s hand but again the twin evaded his touch. Legolas exhaled in frustration.

Elrohir looked away, staring into the distance though it was clear he saw nothing. “There is no breaking such a bond in Arda,” he continued dispiritedly. “But for you...” He swallowed hard. “I will try to find a way.”

The unexpected offer snapped Legolas out of his daze. Consternation coursed through his veins like burning ice.

“Nay, I do not desire that!” he cried, forcibly pulling Elrohir into his arms, refusing to let the twin evade him once more. “Elrohir, I love you!” He pressed his face into the Elvenlord’s neck. “Do not speak of cleaving us apart.”

He felt Elrohir’s arms curl around him but the embrace was tentative, as if the warrior was unsure whether to hold him close. Legolas drew back and gazed at him, anxiously looking for any sign that he had assuaged some of the terrible pain he had inflicted so callously.

The light in the _mithril_ -hued eyes was muted, the vibrancy stilled. Love still glowed in their depths but the trust – his Elrohir’s trust was profoundly shaken. Legolas cupped his mate’s face, wondering how to heal the wound he’d so thoughtlessly dealt. 

“Please, Aduial, do not shut me out,” he implored. When still the twin failed to respond, he almost sobbed. Pridefully forcing back his treacherous tears, he pleaded: “Forgive me, beloved, forgive me. I did not mean those words. Please, Elrohir, I love you.”

Impulsively, he crushed his lips against the Elf-knight’s and kissed him with a violence neither had ever thought him capable of. Even Elrohir’s pain could not withstand the heat and force of the prince’s passion. He moaned when Legolas refused to relinquish his lips, gasped as the archer tore at the clasps of his tunic. He tried to pull away but Legolas pursued him with all the tenacity of a _rÿn_ , or hunting hound, on the trail of its prey. 

“Legolas, _avo_ …”—don’t—he entreated, breaking away momentarily. He was silenced by an even more possessive kiss while the archer yanked his tunic from his shoulders and down his arms.

Desperate needs required desperate measures. In the first years of their espousal, Elrohir had led the way in their couplings more oft than not. But that had changed in recent years as was evident now. Legolas seized the role, exerting his mastery, forcing his desire upon the Elf-rider. He wanted to erase the anguish of his brutal words, longed to bridge the yawning chasm that had opened between them and seemed to widen with every passing second. But after such a primal confrontation, only something equally elemental would breach the walls of Elrohir’s resistance. He bore the warrior down, marshalling all his elven strength to subdue him.

Without breaking their kiss, he reached between their bodies and tugged at the lacing of the twin’s breeches. Feeling the loosening of his clothing, Elrohir managed to free his mouth from Legolas’s demanding custody.

“Nay, I cannot do this,” he protested, struggling to get out from under the archer.

Legolas pinned him down by sheer force of will. “Do not fight me,” he pleaded roughly. “Let me love you. Please, Elrohir.”

Elrohir stared at the prince uncertainly, reluctant to render himself vulnerable in the wake of the latter’s unbidden verbal assault. Love battled it out with pride for primacy. He drew in a shaky breath as the prince pressed kisses to his damp cheeks and nuzzled his neck. In the end, his love for Legolas won. It always will, he thought helplessly.

Resignedly, he lay back, unresisting. With swift, able hands, Legolas divested him of his remaining clothes then stripped himself bare as well. With their raiment shielding his mate from the chill ground, the prince began an assault of another sort, bent on reclaiming the Elvenlord, intent on making their bodies one. He maintained a relentless pace, withholding even a moment’s respite from Elrohir lest the twin retreat from him anew. What he lacked in long experience, he more than made up for in gut-feel and remorse-driven passion.

Elrohir gasped as the archer’s lips and teeth left yet another crimson mark on his flesh, joining the myriad others randomly scattered on his throat, shoulders, chest and abdomen. More made their appearance on the creamy skin of his groin and thighs. When Legolas took him into his mouth, he groaned from the sheer acuteness of the sensation. The archer suckled him rapaciously, almost forcibly awakening his body. Pure pleasure blurred his thoughts, blunted his will. But even as he felt his body surge to life, he knew he could not bear to be brought to release in this manner. It made him feel too completely at the prince’s mercy and this he could not endure. Not now. Not when he felt so fragile within.

He reached down desperately, saying beseechingly, “Legolas, not like this, please. I cannot...”

Instinctively, Legolas understood his plea. Though he regretted foregoing the chance of bringing Elrohir to completion thusly, he also knew it would only undo what he had so far achieved. Breathing raggedly, he moved between Elrohir’s thighs, lifted the twin’s hips and sheathed himself completely within the Elf-knight, melding their slender, powerful forms into searing union. For several moments, all that existed for them was the shared symphony of their impassioned outbursts, the harmony of their pounding hearts and the counterpoint of their writhing loins. 

Their coupling was as fierce and blistering as their fight had been. It needed to be for just as they eased their furies and expended their energies on the fields of battle, so now did they need to resolve their differences and spend their raging emotions in another arena. 

Overwhelmed by the crashing, unrestrained waves of Legolas’s spiraling rapture that swept over and through his body, Elrohir swiftly found his release, the force of it buffeting his lean bulk, partially winding him in its intensity. A bare second later, Legolas came to explosive completion as well, spending himself deep within the younger twin. After a few moments’ reprieve, the prince slowly eased himself from his mate. And then, to Elrohir’s astonishment, he leaned down and licked the Elf-lord’s taut belly clean of his seed.

Only then did he creep up to lie beside the darkling Elf, insistently drawing him into the circle of his arms. Elrohir’s eyes were closed, his mouth trembling though he strove to still it. Legolas brushed his own mouth gently against the quivering lips. The caress stilled the trembling and the Elf-knight opened his eyes to look at his golden spouse. 

“Please tell me you forgive me,” Legolas whispered, his eyes imploring. “I will beg this of you if you demand it.” 

Elrohir drew in a shuddering breath. “I would never allow you to bring yourself so low as to beg,” he said.

“Let me hear the words then,” the prince murmured anxiously. “Assure me that I have not lost your love this day.”

Elrohir regarded him somberly. For the dreadful space of a heartbeat, Legolas thought that what he feared had already come to pass. But then the twilight pools softened and the tense mouth relaxed somewhat.

“I told you I would never cease to love you,” he quietly reminded the archer. When Legolas continued to gaze at him pleadingly, he murmured, “Aye, I forgive you.” 

Nearly swooning in heartfelt relief, Legolas held tight to his mate. He did not delude himself that all was right between them. With one fell swoop, he had crippled the trust they had built over most of the last age. In his oblivious spite, he had revealed to the twin a side he himself had not even realized he possessed; the knowledge gutted him to the core. It would take time before Elrohir fully trusted him once more.

_He deemed me worthy of him yet I have just proved how undeserving I am of his noble heart._ Legolas felt tears of shame and apprehension sting his eyes though he stubbornly hid them from the raven-haired Elf. 

For uncounted years, Elrohir had loved him without condition, both his perfections and his flaws, even when he had hurt him in his thickheaded refusal to accept that love. But Elrohir had known his fears, understood his reluctance and patiently borne his misguided attempts to escape the trap of his own unacknowledged love for the Elf-knight. 

This was different. He had deliberately struck at his binding-mate, knowing he would draw blood, nay, counted on it. He guiltily admitted to himself that had not the Elf-lord been roused to such a fearsome rage, he would have savored the effects of his well-aimed blow. He felt shriveled inside from the baseness of his previous intentions.

_What if this has tainted me in his eyes?_ Legolas could not bear to even think of the consequences.

oOoOoOo

Elladan and Gimli waited in the small clearing to which they had retreated while the pair tussled. Elladan stood quietly to one side. But Gimli could not keep still and fidgeted and paced and demanded every few minutes what in Durin’s name was happening.

At length, Elladan let out a rather weary breath. He looked at Gimli, his countenance grave and troubled. 

“They are done. Let us go back,” he quietly said.

“How do you—?” Gimli stopped then grunted. “Ah, you sense your brother’s feelings, don’t you?” At Elladan’s nod, he said, “I wonder how they settled their argument.”

“With swordplay,” Elladan softly replied.

Gimli stared at the Elf-lord in shock. “What? And we left them to it?” he nearly sputtered. “Confound it, Peredhel, they could have killed each other!”

Elladan turned sage eyes on him. “Not all swords kill, Master Gimli.”

Gimli stared at him uncomprehendingly at first. Then enlightenment came upon him and his mouth formed an ‘o’. His ruddy cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Dratted Elves,” he muttered as he followed Elladan back to the camp. 

*****************************************  
Glosssary:  
Peredhel – Half-elf, Half-elven  
adanedhel – man-Elf

_To be continued…_


	7. VI. Fraying Edges

The day passed awkwardly for the quartet but weighed most heavily on Legolas. 

He was acutely aware that he had not managed to bridge the gap that had opened up between him and Elrohir. The Elf-knight now kept aloof from him, emotionally if not physically. Not that Legolas blamed him. He had uttered words that had struck at the very heart of their relationship and thus given Elrohir reason to doubt him. His subsequent actions had not been anything less than reprehensible. Now, with his mind cool and lucid once more, he reviewed what he had done and cringed at its sordidness.

What had he been thinking when he took Elrohir after having so demeaned him? True, his mate had yielded but what else could he have done in the face of Legolas’s insistent overtures? Reject him? Elrohir had never been one to turn him away when he was in need. 

That was what smote him hardest. It had been his need that had been answered, not Elrohir’s. He’d gained the warrior’s forgiveness and assurances of love. But what had Elrohir received in turn? The archer sighed dolefully. In his panic, he had not taken the time to weigh his actions. He had wanted to prove his love to Elrohir but he'd hardly chosen the most advisable way. There were times when wounds could not be mended by the joining of two bodies. He should have realized that before forcing his desire upon his spouse.

He would have to bide his time until Elrohir saw fit to trust him again. He could only pray it would not take too long for his mate’s distance hurt him grievously. 

His sense of isolation was further aggravated by Elladan’s wary demeanor around him. Legolas knew that Elrohir would never betray the details of their quarrel to anyone, not even his twin. The days when they had openly shared everything were no more now that they were both espoused. There were certain matters that had to remain in confidence between binding-mates alone and the brethren observed this constraint as assiduously as when they had confided in each other. But the bond between them remained strong and they oft knew the other’s feelings or thoughts because of it. Elladan would not know the exact nature of Legolas’s transgression against his brother, but he would have sensed that there _had_ been one and would therefore respond accordingly. In this case, that meant being as mistrustful of Legolas as Elrohir now was.

If not for Gimli, he would have felt utterly alone. Not for the last time was he grateful for his Dwarf friend’s company. 

They broke camp at first light the following day and were soon on the trail of their prey once more. But unlike before, the brethren seemed grimmer and more taciturn. Not even Gimli could pierce the shroud of reticence that enfolded them for long. This served to dishearten Legolas further.

It would have been easy for him to believe that, despite Elrohir’s claim to the contrary, the Elf-knight had ceased to care for him. Even during the worst times of their tension-fraught relationship in the past two years, he’d always left the door to reconciliation wide open. But now, it seemed no longer the case. The woodland prince struggled with a burgeoning fear that the door was slowly closing. Indeed, he’d have thought it shut already in the light of Elrohir’s demeanor with him. Except...

Every once in long while, Elrohir would look at him. And though his eyes were now hooded as they had never been before, he could not hide what lay deep in his heart. It glimmered still in the innermost reaches of those twilight pools though its brightness had been dimmed by hurt and disillusionment.

He still loves me, Legolas told himself almost desperately. He had to believe that Elrohir did.

He refused to think of what would become of him should that doom come to pass. That after all these centuries, the love that had succored him so tenderly even when he had not known it should now be withdrawn. And there would be no one to blame but himself.

In the days that followed, he took on more than his share of duties. He extended his hours on watch, sometimes even taking on whole nights instead of waking anyone for a turn. He saw to their steeds whenever the twins headed out on foot to track their elusive quarry. And he insisted on seeing to their supplies, hunting on his own here and then to add to their spartan stores. Anything and everything to ease the ache that troubled his heart whenever he reached out to Elrohir with his spirit only to receive a gentle but firm rebuff. 

Their bond was still in place but it was shaky at best. He guarded it relentlessly, watchful for any sign of further weakening. Matrimonial bonds could not be broken but they could be damaged to the point of hollowness. 

Each night, as he lay by Elrohir’s side, he longed to reach over and hold his mate in his arms. But he could not disregard the warrior’s tacit reluctance to be held or even touched by him. As his confidence of Elrohir’s love eroded, so did his sense of security in their relationship flag. It did not take long for him to begin to despair that he had irrevocably ruined what they shared. But his innate tenacity refused to allow him to give up hope and so he clung to the tenuous strands of affection he could still sense radiating from his distant spouse. 

The fifth night descended accompanied by the coldest weather they had yet experienced. For several days now, the temperature had been steadily dropping. The chill climate had troubled the Elves little thus far and Gimli, hardy as he was, had needed only his thickest jacket to stave off its worst effects. But they were all disturbed anew by the lack of snow or even frost despite the plunging temperature. Here up high there should have been ice at the very least yet this was not so. For the first time, they began to consider the possibility of a connection between this strange winter and their present mission.

It seemed sorcery was at work. Dark sorcery.

“The passes and paths remain clear as do the roads below,” Elrohir commented as they discussed the matter before taking their rest. 

They were seated around a small fire, the first they had stoked since their ascent into the mountains. It was for Gimli’s sake for the Dwarf, while admirably resistant, was at last feeling just the least bit chilled. At least, they were camped in a hollow surrounded by boulders and gaunt leafless trees and the glow of the fire could only be faintly discerned from without. 

“Mayhap that is the intent for the lack of ice and snow,” Elladan mused. He pulled out a few pieces of the diaphanous fabric they had found along the way. “Blocked passes and trails would hinder not only the predators but their prey as well.”

“Traffic on the northern roads have been higher of late than in previous years,” Legolas said in a hushed voice.

“Aye, and the attacks only began very recently,” Elladan said. “Whoever or whatever is behind them has taken care to ensure that the victims could be taken with ease despite winter’s onset.”

“Not to mention in greater than expected numbers,” Gimli grumbled. “Even my kindred were not spared!” He glanced at the Elves. “But no Elf has thus been slain yet it seems.”

Legolas shook his head. “None so far. We may very well prove the first,” he added grimly.

He started when he felt a firm hand grasp his thigh, imparting fortitude with a slight squeeze. He looked at Elrohir who sat nigh to his side, almost not daring to hope that the Elf-knight had opened up to him for at least this moment. His hope was rewarded by the flash of argent eyes regarding him gravely. But gently. 

Before Elrohir could withdraw his hand, he quickly clasped it in his and held it there, relishing the warm touch upon his leg. The warrior gazed at him with veiled eyes but Legolas glimpsed the still flickering affection in the grey wells. It vastly comforted him.

As was his wont of late, he insisted on taking the first watch. The others reluctantly agreed, aware he could very well stay on guard the whole night. But in this Elrohir voiced his disapproval.

“Wake me, Legolas,” he said. “I will not have you wearing yourself out again.” When the archer would have demurred, he placed two fingers against his lips. “Wake me,” he repeated.

The intimate sensation of the Elf-rider’s fingers upon his lips effectively silenced the prince. He nodded then wordlessly left to do his duty.

It was but a few hours later that Elrohir awoke. Much too soon to take his turn at sentry duty. What had roused him? 

Unable to sleep any further he decided to relieve Legolas instead. Rising, he caught up his sword and headed for the archer’s position. But he grew uneasy when he neared it and Legolas was nowhere to be seen. It was then that he heard the faint sounds of strife further on. Concerned, he hurried towards the source of tumult.

His concern was well founded. 

Little more than a few yards away, Legolas was engaged in a bruising fight with three goblins. The archer looked quite capable of dispatching them on his own but Elrohir was of no mind to take chances. Hesitating only a moment to touch his sleeping brother’s mind, he plunged into the fray and downed one with so savage a blow to its neck that the snapping of it was loud enough to hear. By now Legolas had gutted one of his opponents and hewed the feet out from under the other. With a swift downward stab of his sword he slew the legless orc.

Before either Elf had a chance to catch his breath, a swarm of orcs converged on them. One launched itself at them only to scream in pain when an arrow struck it full in its throat. Elrohir had a moment to grin as Elladan and Gimli showed up, the Dwarf obviously spoiling for a fight.

As before the orcs were well protected and armed. But again, they were not of the same caliber as the goblins Sauron and Saruman had employed in the Great War. These were ambushers and pillagers, not true soldiers of war. Nonetheless, they were formidable in numbers and strength if not in skill. They were not to be taken for granted.

Elrohir espied one orc as it broke ranks and sped away. With a scowl, he raced after it. They could not afford to let even one of the creatures escape any more than they could afford to be captured. Surprise was their best weapon at the moment and he was of no mind to let this foul creation of Morgoth’s carry tales to its master whoever he may be.

One of the fleetest of the Firstborn of Middle-earth, he easily caught up with the orc. Though obviously no match for the Elf-lord in pure skill, the creature fought back with sheer brutality. In that, it was a force to reckon with and Elrohir had to bring all his power and strength to bear to subdue his opponent.

At last, he overcame the orc, knocking its black sword from its clawed hand and tripping it so that it fell to its knees. Attempting to rise, the goblin went utterly still as it felt the cold of sharp steel against the leathery skin of its neck. The creature, faced with a sword to its vulnerable throat, cravenly sued for mercy. 

Eyeing it warily, Elrohir demanded that the orc tell him who its master was.

“Lomion,” the creature rasped. “Its name is Lomion.”

“It?” Elrohir snapped. “Do you not know if your master is man or woman?”

“It is impossible to tell,” the orc said. “It changes. We do not know what it is.”

Puzzled, Elrohir nevertheless continued to question his captive. “Where is its stronghold? Speak!” he commanded when the orc hesitated.

“High in the mountains near the eastern pass,” the creature finally answered. “A black fortress with high walls and a great tower.”

“Does Lomion not fear the cold-drakes in the mountains?” Elrohir said. “That is perilously close to where they lie if they still live.”

The orc cackled. “Worms are no more,” it spat out. “It took care of them all right.”

Elrohir narrowed his eyes in disbelief. The cold-drakes had driven the Dwarves from the Ered Mithrin. What power did this Lomion possess that would enable him to destroy them? He wondered if the orc was telling the truth or not.

“What of the women?”

“Women?”

“The women who have been preying on travellers along the northern roads.”

“Don’t know what you’re babbling about!” It yelped as the blade pressed in enough to draw blood. “Lomion’s pets! They’re his, aye!”

“How do they kill their victims?”

The orc could not help snortling with malicious glee. “Suck them dry,” it crowed. “Drains them.”

Elrohir frowned. “They feed on them?” he demanded, revulsion mingling with incredulity.

“Not on _them_ ,” the orc retorted contemptuously. “On their _lives_.”

Elrohir stared in utter horror at the now evilly grinning creature. “Their lives,” he repeated. “You mean their life’s force?” he added in spiralling shock.

“Aye, now you’ve got it. Not so bright for an Elf, are you?” the orc sneered. “Couldn’t figure it out on your own.”

Elrohir scowled but refused to be provoked into a careless rage. Straightening, he released the creature, sheathing his sword. He stepped back from his foe. 

“Very well, then,” he snapped. “Begone and never return to these parts if you value your wretched life.”

He turned his back on the cowering orc. In that instant, the creature suddenly grabbed its fallen sword and lunged forward aiming a murderous blow at the Elf-lord. Elrohir spun around, his arm swinging out in a graceful, lethal arc. His stroke neatly sliced the orc’s throat open. 

It sank to its knees in shock and stared open-mouthed at the Elf. Elrohir glared back at it, his eyes cold and merciless.

“You did not really think that I would trust you, did you?” he calmly said. It was so much better when these creatures gave one a reason to kill them. 

The orc toppled over onto its face, its dark blood forming a pool around its head. Elrohir slammed his sword back into its sheath and turned to rejoin the others.

Legolas was the first to mark his return. The Wood-elf hastened to him, his eyes anxious. 

“What happened?” he asked. “We lost sight of you and—” He broke off, patently shaken.

Elrohir placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I only followed a goblin that sought to flee. I did not think it wise to let it get word of our presence to its master.”

“You slew it then,” Elladan ascertained.

“Aye, and more.” Swiftly he recounted what the orc had revealed to him under duress.

Their shock was understandable as he related the nature of the women’s manner of killing their victims. They found it as repulsive and horrifying as he had. But when he revealed the name of their nemesis, Elladan suddenly turned paler than he’d ever thought possible. 

“ _Gwaniuar!_ What is it?” he demanded worriedly.

The older twin shook his head dazedly. “You must be mistaken. That could not have been his name.”

“The creature uttered it quite clearly. Elladan, what is wrong? Why should that name discomfit you so?”

“Ah, _gwanneth_ , have you forgotten who bore it?”

Elrohir stared at him in puzzlement for several seconds before his eyes widened in disbelief. “Nay, ‘tis not possible. He has been dead for more than two ages of this world!”

“Precisely! ‘Tis why I questioned you.”

Gimli interrupted impatiently. “What are you talking about? Who is dead?”

Elladan let out a shaky breath. “Only one Elf ever carried that name. Lomion was Aredhel’s name for her son, Maeglin.”

Legolas started. “How do you know this?”

“We heard it from Father and he in turn learned of it from a few of the survivors of Gondolin who came to Lindon. They’d had occasion to hear her call him by that name.”

“But how can this Lomion and Maeglin be one and the same?” Elrohir objected. “He died in that fall; struck the mountainside several times before pitching into the flames below. There were witnesses to this. Glorfindel saw it happen with his very own eyes!”

“I have no explanation for such an impossible occurrence,” Elladan admitted. “But if Lomion is indeed Maeglin, that means he survived that terrible fall against all odds.”

They stared at each other in deep perturbation. If their foe was indeed Eöl’s son returned, his very existence begged a host of puzzling question. How _had_ he survived that fall? And how he had subsisted all these millennia they could not even begin to imagine. But subsisted it seemed he had, and now had emerged a perilous adversary and a terrible threat to all.

**************************************  
Glossary:  
gwaniuar – older twin  
gwanneth – younger twin

_To be continued…_


	8. VII. Snare

They came to a rocky trail that made riding difficult. Their horses were hard-pressed to keep from stumbling as large loose pebbles constantly gave way under their hooves. Dismounting. they led their steeds along the narrow track, gingerly guiding the understandably skittish animals. At length the path began to climb up a steep incline and they were perforce compelled to take turns ascending it. 

Elladan went first with his mount followed by Gimli. Elrohir was just moving forward, coaxing his horse along, when Legolas stopped him.

The archer had been brooding all morning, feeling his mate’s reticence more sharply than ever. Elrohir had briefly opened up to him just two evenings ago but had since retreated behind his taciturnity anew. It grated on Legolas’s nerves, unused as he was to being cut off from the Elf-knight’s loving regard. It had come to a point where he could no longer hold his tongue. 

Furthermore, a vague foreboding had been steadily growing within him. Like all his kindred, he possessed to some degree the gift of foresight. While not as blessed as those of Elrond’s house, he could and did sense when good or ill was in the offing. Now was one of those instances and though the twins did not seem to feel as he did, he was convinced trouble lurked close by. 

He did not desire this distance between them when Eru only knew what awaited them. Come what may, he had to know whether he still stood a chance of winning back the full measure of Elrohir’s affections.

“Please, Aduial, can we talk?” he pleaded. 

Elrohir looked up the incline. Gimli was almost at the top.

“About what?” he asked, eyes still on the Dwarf.

“About what happened,” Legolas said. “What I said and...” He sighed guiltily as Elrohir turned his attention to him. “I did not mean it, Elrohir. Twas only because I was so...”

“Angry,” Elrohir finished for him. “Aye, I know.”

Legolas peered at him trying to read the impassive argent eyes. “You said you forgave me,” he reminded the twin.

“I did forgive you,” Elrohir replied evenly.

“Yet you remain aloof from me,” Legolas said. “And show me so little trust besides. How can I believe that you have pardoned me?”

Elrohir paused then gravely regarded the prince. “You are right,” he conceded. “I forgave you your anger that drove you to utter such ill-spoken words. But I do not trust you as I once did.”

Legolas felt the sting of his mate’s admission keenly. He gritted his teeth in frustration. “Can you not forget what happened?” he queried in desperation.

“Forget?” Elrohir sounded quite incredulous. “And will you have me forget your egregious demeanor with me these past two years as well?” 

Legolas was nearly rendered speechless. “My— What do you mean?” he demanded apprehensively.

Elrohir let out an exasperated breath. By now, Gimli had reached the top of the path and was disappearing from his sight. “This is hardly the time to discuss this,” he snipped and made to follow the Dwarf. 

Legolas began to boil within. “Then when is the time?” he challenged, grabbing the warrior’s arm. “When we are both dead and languishing in the Halls of Awaiting?”

“Legolas, please, we will speak of this later,” Elrohir said dismissively.

He gasped when the archer suddenly pushed him rather brusquely against the bare rock of the cliff side. “Now, Elrohir,” Legolas growled. “Before we face whatever evil lies beyond, I want to know where I stand with you!”

The Elvenlord’s eyes blazed of a sudden, his patience giving out. “You want!” he retorted. “I should not be surprised for that is all you ever cared about. And seldom considered my needs while you were at it.”

Legolas stared at him, aghast. “What—?”

Elrohir was seething. "'Tis always what you want, what you need, what you desire!” he spat. “When have you thought to ask what _I_ might want?”

The archer was shocked. He had never seen Elrohir thusly in all their years together. The warrior did not bother to mince his words.

“You accepted my attentions only when it suited you, spurned my attempts to protect you, balked when I so much as asked what you were about!” he hissed. “Yet you scarcely gave me solace in return. A loving word or a soothing touch at the end of the day was all I craved but even those you more oft than not denied me. Only in bed did you deign to show me some affection and even then 'twould only be until you had spent yourself!” 

Struck dumb, Legolas did not think anything could be more hurtful than Elrohir’s tirade. Until the twin’s next words proved him woefully wrong. 

“You are a wonderful _seron_ , Legolas”—lover—the Elf-knight ground out. “But as a _bereth_ you leave much to be desired.”

With that, he abruptly thrust Legolas away, grabbed hold of his mount and went up the mountain path after Elladan and Gimli.

Legolas stared after him, breathing heavily and painfully. Then gritting his teeth, he hurried after him.

The path led onto a wide level stretch, barren for the most part but for a few straggling bushes, mostly bereft of greenery. But a thick wood loomed beyond, the surprisingly hardy trees still clinging to much of their foliage. As he caught sight of his companions, Legolas swallowed his impulse to assail Elrohir once more. He could hardly reopen their argument in front of Elladan and Gimli.

Just as he approached them, they heard a moaning cry. Startled, they all turned to see a woman fall to her knees as she emerged from the forest. She was clothed in naught but a badly rent gown, her hair loose upon her shoulders and back, and she looked pale and tired and lost.

Gimli gave a soft shout and began to walk to her, his instinct to give assistance overriding caution. But Elladan held him back. 

“Wait, _meldiren_ ”—my friend—he cautioned. “Let us first learn what she is doing here. This is no place for a woman and even less for a lone one.”

He neared her but still kept some distance between them. The woman looked up at him beseechingly.

“Help me,” she pleaded. “Get me away from here, I beg of you.”

Elladan frowned uneasily. “What do you flee from, my lady?” he queried.

“From the feeders.”

“Feeders?”

“They who feast on the life force of beings.”

The statement was enough to send shivers up their spines. Legolas came to Elladan’s side.

“How did you come to be here?” he softly inquired. “Were you taken here?”

She did not answer but rose to her feet and sought to approach him and Elladan. When they backed away, she said, “Why do you fear me? I ask for aid and you retreat before me.”

She looked at each of them entreatingly. It was when she laid eyes on Elrohir that the younger twin gasped and recoiled from her stare.

“‘Tis she!” he exclaimed. “The one I glimpsed in the dead man’s thoughts! Beware, she brought him to his death!”

In that instant of recognition, the woman underwent a startling transformation. She cast off the rags of her raiment, revealing a gauzy grey gown that clung to a lissome white body. It became all too apparent just how she had lured her victim into her arms and to his death. But while the three Elves and Gimli acknowledged her allure, they had no liking for it, knowing as they did that she was one of the creatures they had been tracking. 

She had apparently comprehended their immunity to her charms from the start for she made no attempt at seduction of any kind. As they cautiously watched her, her countenance altered, her skin paling to bone-white and her eyes losing all color or detail until nothing but black wells stared out at them. She emitted a piercing feral shriek.

Of a sudden, others like her appeared from the cover of the wood, swiftly moving to encircle the four. A score in all, they were also clad in grey, almost transparent gowns that had been obviously created for the purpose of temptation rather than to lend warmth. Indeed, the women did not seem to feel the hostile wind that whipped through the clearing. 

Their wicked intent notwithstanding, the very nature of their origins left the four in a quandary. They had no doubts now that these must have been among the women abducted from years ago, transformed by the blackest of arts into creatures of death. Did they deserve death themselves when they had not sought to become what they now were?

Their dilemma was readily resolved when one of the creatures pounced on Gimli without warning. Instinctively, the Dwarf swung his axe at her, ripping open her belly. The woman collapsed. But to his and the others’ disbelief, no blood poured from the terrible wound. And to their consternation, even as the others began to close in on them, she only lay for a few minutes before rising once more to her feet and joining her sisters in what looked to be a feeding frenzy.

There was no longer room for ethics or compassion. This was a matter of survival.

“We must get away from here!” Elladan shouted to the others. “‘Tis fruitless to fight them if they do not bleed!” 

“Yet even they must recover from their wounds,” Legolas growled and demonstrated his point by lopping off the reaching arm of one of their assailants. Sure enough, she staggered back, clutching at the stump of her arm and took some minutes to return to the fray.

They had no choice but to hack their way through and even then it was not as simple as they might have hoped. The creatures were agile and, while seemingly immune to mortal wounds, evaded their blades as much as possible. And those they did injure recovered swiftly and rejoined their sisters and so the four were often cut off in their forward progress towards the forest beyond. But they forced their way through, holding the women at bay, ever conscious of the grisly fates of the humans who had encountered them. 

It was when they had almost reached the edge of the clearing and the hoped for safety of the wood that the unthinkable happened.

Elrohir was the first to break out of the deadly circle but he refused to leave the others. Taking a quick look around, he saw one woman launch herself at Legolas’s unprotected back. Without a moment’s hesitation he raced back, flinging his knife at the creature, pinning her arm to a nearby tree. But his rescue of his mate cost him.

A figure crashed into him, knocking him to the ground. A foot came down brutally on his hand forcing him to let go of his sword, which was then swiftly kicked away. Before he could get his bearings, he was straddled and icy hands gripped his face and forced him to look at she who had downed him. In the next moment, indescribable pain and cold lanced through him to his very bones. It was as if a multitude of daggers sliced at his very nerves while an arctic stream flowed through his veins. He cried out, grabbed at the creature and tried to push her off him. But she proved startlingly powerful and he could not make her budge. And the unbearable pain and cold continued to wrack his body. 

He felt it then. The drain on his elven flame. Understood she was sucking from him the very essence of his life’s energy. And he could do nothing to stop it. He vaguely heard the others’ cries, saw through his rapidly blurring vision Legolas desperately trying to fight his way to him. He thought then that this was the end for him. 

But just when he was on the verge of losing consciousness, the creature suddenly gave a shuddering cry, the blackened wells of her eyes widening in patent agony. Her grip on him loosened and the steady drain on his life’s force faltered and, unbelievably, he actually felt some of it flow back into him. Desperately, he flung out his arms, groping for anything he might use as a weapon. His right hand came upon a broken branch. With all his remaining strength, he grasped it and rammed one end into the woman’s neck.

She did not even cry out. Simply stared at him in shock then toppled over. And stayed there.

Elladan saw and comprehended the significance of his brother’s deed. He began to aim his strokes at the women’s throats, slicing them open or decapitating them outright. None rose again to renew their attack.

It did not take long for Legolas and Gimli to follow his lead. In a matter of minutes, it was over. 

They ran to Elrohir who still lay motionless upon the withered grass. Elladan reached him first and gathered his twin into his arms.

“ _Gwanneth!_ ” he rasped. “How do you fare? Tell me what you feel!”

Elrohir moved his head feebly to rest on his brother’s chest.

“So... c-cold,” he stuttered. “Weak...”

Legolas took his hand and gasped at the iciness of it. “We must get him warm,” he said urgently. 

Elladan briskly pulled the ends of his brother’s cloak around his shivering form, snugly wrapping him in the mantle’s thick folds. He held Elrohir tightly to himself, hoping his body heat would alleviate some of his twin’s discomfort. 

“We cannot remain here,” he grimly said. “Get the horses. We must leave before any others come upon us.”

Legolas called back their scattered steeds. Taking a second to retrieve Elrohir’s knife and sword, the archer quickly mounted his horse then reached out his arms for the Elf-knight. For a tense moment, Elladan hesitated to yield his brother to the prince, his earlier distrust welling anew. But then he sighed and rose, easily lifting Elrohir in his arms, and gave his twin into the care of the latter’s mate. 

Legolas pulled Elrohir close, holding him securely in his arms, letting the twin rest his woozy head against his neck. He only waited for Elladan to mount as well and pull Gimli up behind him before he urged his horse onward. They retreated into the deeps of the neighboring forest.

*************************  
Glossary:  
Aduial - Twilight  
bereth – spouse; husband or wife

_To be continued…_


	9. VIII. Finding Solace

The forest spanned several acres of mountainside and they rode until they reached its easternmost bounds. Only then did they stop and set up camp. By now it was afternoon and they were all somewhat weary in spirit if not in body. Save for Elrohir who was near drained of both.

Legolas only reluctantly released him into his brother’s arms when they came to a halt. 

It had galled him when Elladan had hesitated to hand Elrohir over to him though he could not blame him. Elladan’s demeanor had then worried him that the younger twin might balk at having to ride with him. But to his relief, Elrohir had willingly stayed with him, even sinking into his embrace and dozing off as their pace quickened. Whether it was from love or only sheer exhaustion, the archer did not really care. All that had mattered was that he could hold Elrohir once more after so many lonely days and nights.

And then he had been thrilled to the very core of his being when, as they approached the edge of the forest, Elrohir had lifted his head and brushed pliant lips against his. So elated had he been and needful of the Elf-knight’s loving that he had chased after the retreating lips and, upon capturing them, had urgently parted them and hungrily tasted what he had been forced to forego in the wake of their shocking fight. Was it any wonder that he now rued having to let his mate go?

They found a shallow basin well hidden by trees wherein they could settle down for the rest of the day. There they built a blazing fire for Elrohir and laid him down by it. He slipped into deep slumber almost at once, which had Gimli anxiously fussing over him lest he fall into the oblivious repose of his kinsmen. But it proved a normal sleep and a replenishing one to everyone’s relief. When he awoke just after sundown, he seemed much refreshed and could sit up unaided and partake of a light meal though he still suffered from cold and fatigue.

It was only then that they questioned him as to what had been done to him. One thing in particular immediately caught their attention. 

“Are you certain that she was in pain?” Elladan pressed. 

“Very certain,” Elrohir replied. “She loosened her hold on me and ceased to drain me. ‘Twas how I managed to slay her.” 

“And you say you could feel some of your life’s force returning.”

“Aye, as if she could not hold it in and allowed it to flow back through the channel she opened between us.”

Gimli exclaimed at that. “Then that would explain my kinsmen’s survival,” he said. “Though not why they were so drained as to be forced into unconsciousness but not enough to kill them.”

Legolas frowned as he turned the puzzle over in his mind. He heard Gimli add, “Perhaps it does have to do with our being of different races. We are after all more enduring than men and much stronger besides.”

“Not to mention longer-lived,” Legolas suddenly suggested.

Elrohir looked at him in interest. “That is a thought,” he said in a hushed voice. “Dwarves live three to four times as long as the average Man. That would certainly explain why your kinsmen did not die, Gimli, but were simply drained to exhaustion.” He sat up straighter, twilight eyes gleaming with excitement. “A Dwarf’s life force may be simply too much for any one feeder to consume.” 

“And even more impossible with an immortal being,” Elladan murmured. “No matter what she had become, she was still of mortal origins and could not sustain her consumption of your eternal flame.”

“Then this is not so great a peril as we previously thought,” Gimli said. “Since they cannot prey on you Elves, you can go after them and destroy them.”

Elladan shook his head. “They can still weaken us. Witness what that woman did to Elrohir. Had more than one attacked him...”

“And there is still the matter of our missing women,” Elrohir reminded them all. “Mayhap a mortal cannot take on an Elf but what of our own transformed into those abominations?” 

Legolas gasped in horror. “One would be a match for any number of Elves. As it is, those women were already much too swift and agile for my liking.”

“And impossibly strong as well,” Elrohir added. “I could not make her loosen her hold on me.”

“But we know their weakness,” Gimli pointed out. “It should be a simple matter to dispatch them.”

“If they remain thus clothed,” Legolas mused. “There has been no need to shield them so far as none knew their intent and even less their one weakness. But should Lomion choose to launch an open assault, would he not take care to protect them?”

“With armor wrought from galvorn,” Elladan agreed. “Aye, that he would.”

“Well reasoned, Legolas,” Elrohir quietly commended his mate. The prince could not help beaming in pleasure to hear his Elf-knight’s praise. 

“Our women were among the last to be taken,” he remarked. “And none have yet appeared. Is it possible they have not been altered?”

“After all these years?” Elladan said doubtfully. "'Tis more likely they have either not completed their transformation or Lomion is holding them back for some other purpose.” He paused. “I am more inclined to believe they are still not – ready for release,” he said at length. “As you say, they were among the last to be taken. And thus far it seems only mortal women have been unleashed upon us. Mayhap whatever process is used to change them is not all that swift.” 

“Mayhap,” Elrohir said. He scowled. “What Lomion has wreaked on these women is the most heinous of violations. I would end his designs and him soonest!” Even as he spoke, a profusion of sharp chills ran through his body and he half-gasped at the sensation.

“Are you very chilled?” Gimli worriedly asked, noting how the younger twin drew his cloak closer about him.

Elrohir nodded. “Though not as cold as when that creature assailed me.”

“It will probably diminish when you regain your strength,” the Dwarf suggested.

“Probably.” 

“You are weary again, _muindor_. Lie and take more rest,” Elladan urged.

Elrohir sighed heavily and, too tired to protest, did as he was bid. His lassitude was soon evinced by his swift return to slumber. 

Elladan eyed him with concern. “I pray we do not encounter more of them while he is this weak,” he remarked. 

“What do you think, Elladan?” Gimli inquired. “Has Lomion already discovered us? That was a trap if ever I saw one.”

“I cannot say,” Elladan admitted. “I hope not. They may simply have been on their way down the mountains to hunt more victims and upon marking our arrival in that clearing devised a hasty trap for us. I fervently hope that is the case. So long as Lomion remains unaware of our presence, we stand a better chance of approaching his stronghold.”

“You mean for us to destroy it on our own,” Legolas said, eyes glinting in the firelight. 

Elladan’s countenance was grave. “We cannot know how prepared Lomion is to unleash his creatures on us. We may no longer have the time to go back to muster our forces.” He looked out into the dark beyond the glow of the fire. “This may be our only chance to preempt an invasion by these – feeders.”

Gimli pursed his mouth. “A daunting task,” he grunted. “Almost a hopeless one if I did not know you and your abilities.” He snorted. “We will most likely die of this.”

Elladan sighed and nodded. “Most likely.”

The Dwarf stared into the crackling flames. And then a scapegrace grin creased his face. “I will say this. It’s never dull around you,” he said. “I wager Lomion will wish he’d never been born by the time you’re through with him!”

The Elves had to chuckle at his indomitable spirit. Legolas, however, shook his head and said, “Mayhap we cannot go back, but we must get word to my father of what we have discovered. If we fail, at least he will still have a chance to do something about this.”

“And how are we supposed to get word to him without one of us actually going back?” Gimli queried pointedly.

Legolas sighed with frustration then suddenly went still. He stared at the topmost branches of a tree several yards away. The others turned to see what it was he had spotted.

Ravens. Several ravens were perched on the tree branches. 

Legolas rose and approached the tree. Looking up, he stared intently at the birds. To Elladan and Gimli’s amazement, one raven left its perch and flew down to land on the Wood-elf’s outstretched arm. Legolas continued to stare at it and the bird in turn seemed to look back at him. After a long while, it took flight and vanished into the darkness. Legolas returned to the others.

“What was that all about?” Gimli growled testily.

Legolas said, “My father is blessed with the gift of communicating with most animals. I am not as gifted and indeed I find it difficult to do.” He glanced at Elladan. “I sent the raven back to Eryn Lasgalen to warn Father of the danger and inform him of our location and plans.”

Elladan regarded him with some amazement. “In all our years of acquaintance, you never told me of this ability.”

Legolas shrugged. “As I said, ‘tis not something I am truly strong in. I did not think it worth mentioning even to Elrohir. But in this instance, I fervently hope ‘tis sufficient for our needs.” 

Elladan said, “Aye, let us all hope so.” He rose to his feet. “I will take first watch,” he said.

Gimli yawned. “I need all the sleep I can get,” he decided. “I will take the last watch.” As Elladan left to take up his position, he lay down, wrapping his cloak around himself. Soon he was snoring away. 

Legolas stayed up a few minutes longer, looking upon Elrohir’s mantle shrouded form. Finally, he lay his body down beside him. A few minutes later he was fast asleep as well.

Elladan roused him just before the midnight hour. Without a word, he reached for his bow and quiver, rose to his feet and began to walk away. Elladan’s sharp intake of breath brought him up short. The older twin had dropped to his knees beside his brother’s huddled form. 

“He is shivering!” Elladan softly exclaimed. Swiftly, he pulled off his cloak and threw it over Elrohir’s body. He glanced up at Legolas accusingly. “Did you not notice how chilled he was?” he demanded. 

Legolas started then flushed guiltily. “I did not think to check,” he admitted. 

Elladan barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. On the verge of uttering a caustic statement, he started when he felt a cold hand on his arm. He glanced down to find Elrohir awake and looking at both of them.

“Please.” A single word but it imparted the Elf-knight’s desire for peace most succinctly. 

Legolas flinched when Elrohir’s eyes met his, the barest flicker of emotion in their depths. Disappointment, the prince realized with a twinge. He would have gone down on his knees by his side then but Elladan forestalled him. ”Go. I will take care of him,” he said.

His guilt hounding him, Legolas walked off. A few steps away he glanced back to look at the brethren. He stopped in his tracks as he saw Elladan lie down beside his brother and pull him close, letting his body warm the other. Elrohir thankfully accepted the comfort offered and snuggled into his twin’s arms.

Shame joined the archer’s feeling of culpability. I should have done that for him, he thought with a pang. He recalled Elrohir’s summation of his several shortcomings just that very morning. He bowed his head and closed his eyes tightly.

Elrohir’s words had seared his very soul. He had thought he’d never seen him so angry. Now he understood that had not been the case at all. The twin had not been enraged. He had been frustrated, disappointed. _Wounded._

‘How do I make amends to you?’ Legolas thought coweringly. ‘Will you even let me?’

He remained in a pensive mood the following day as they resumed their trek, his unhappiness deepened by Elrohir’s seeming renewed aloofness with him. That was hardly surprising. Legolas could only imagine what Elrohir must have felt and thought upon awakening the night before to discover that it was not his mate but his brother who had noted his discomfort and seen to its easing. 

It did not help that Elrohir had been so strengthened by his night’s repose that he could ride on his own. Once more, it was with Gimli that the woodland prince shared his steed. While he did not desire for Elrohir to remain weak and defenseless, he could not help wishing for any excuse to hold him in his arms once more. 

The memory of sweetness on his lips only exacerbated his sense of loss. Elrohir had opened himself to Legolas with his tender actions the day before. It had greatly heartened the prince. But with one simple act of neglect, he had once more given Elrohir reason to doubt whether renewed closeness between them was desirable. After years of putting up with Legolas’ questionable behavior, even the paltriest transgression would be a blow to Elrohir’s faltering trust in his mate. Legolas’ eyes stung with salty moisture as he felt the connection between them waver once more. 

So preoccupied was he with his dark thoughts that he progressively grew quieter as they journeyed on. Until at last, he spoke no more unless spoken to. An inquisitive tap on his shoulder called him back to the present. 

“What troubles you, Legolas?” Gimli asked with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Why so sad?”

The Elven prince sighed. It humbled him remembering how even Gimli had thought to inquire about Elrohir’s state of being the night before. “Before the attack yesterday, Elrohir told me that as his mate, I leave much to be desired,” he said miserably. He waited for the Dwarf’s response. When none was forthcoming, he knew Gimli was trying to be kind by saying nothing. “You agree with him,” Legolas murmured dejectedly.

Behind him he heard Gimli huff uncomfortably. Finally, the Dwarf replied. “‘Tis just that I have been observing you and, well, you don’t comport yourself as I’ve seen other mated Elves do. You don’t appreciate his efforts to take care of you and you don’t seem inclined to take care of him much either. I confess, I find it strange, my friend.”

Legolas felt his heart constrict with even more guilt. If Gimli had noticed his negligence almost at once then what must other Elves have thought all this time? More importantly, what had that done to Elrohir? Suddenly, he realized how mortifying it must have been for the warrior to endure the pity of everyone around them for only a blind Elf would not have seen how Legolas treated him. A shudder rippled through his lean frame as the image of the Elf-knight putting up a brave front flashed through his mind.

Gimli felt his distress and, in a bid to soothe him, said, "'Tis not something you cannot undo, Legolas. And he will appreciate any effort on your part to make amends.”

“More likely he is already beginning to doubt whether I am worth his time,” Legolas replied tightly.

Gimli snorted. “Nay, Elrohir would never do that,” he said sagely. “He loved you for years before you knew it. That won’t cease now that he has won you.”

“Won me, Gimli?” the archer laughed bitterly then choked. “I am no prize. Indeed, ‘tis a wonder he puts up with me and my failings.”

Gimli patted his arm comfortingly. “Now, now, laddie, do not be defeated ere the fight has even begun.” He chuckled when the archer started at his choice of words. “This is a fight, Legolas, make no mistake. And victory nothing less than your love together. Is that not something worth struggling for?”

Legolas was silent for a while. But finally, he glanced back at his friend, a faint smile on his lips. “Aye, it is,” he softly replied. “He is.”

“Then go to it, Elf,” Gimli grinned. “Give it your all.”

oOoOoOo

The day passed without incident much to Elrohir’s relief. Though his weakness was slowly waning he still felt less than his usual robust self. And the cold continued to gnaw at him with tiresome tenacity. Once they set up camp, he edged close to the fire, pulling his cloak close around him as he had done the previous night. Elladan and Gimli sat a short distance away discussing the best route to take in the morning. Legolas stood to one side, listening to their conversation but saying nothing. Elrohir sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

“Are you weary, _meleth_?”—love. 

He glanced up as Legolas dropped down beside him. After an awkward pause, he nodded. “Somewhat. Sleep should refresh me.”

Legolas, his eyes on the fire, hesitated before speaking again. “Do you still feel the cold?” he asked, his cheeks turning rosy.

Elrohir noted his embarrassment and realized the archer was discomfited by his negligence of the previous night. “Nothing a blazing fire and a thick cloak cannot mend,” he answered quietly. Legolas bit his lip then looked at him. The warrior could not miss the pleading in the sapphire pools. “Or a warm embrace,” he softly added.

The flicker of relief in the archer’s eyes was unmistakable. Legolas smiled timidly. “Then let me hold you while you sleep,” he offered. 

“I would like that,” Elrohir replied with an answering smile.

Swiftly, Legolas undid his cloak and spread it on the grass as protection for the ailing Elf against the chill ground. Then he unclasped Elrohir’s cloak as well before gently laying him down upon the spread out mantle. Lying beside the warrior, he drew the latter’s cloak over their bodies then enfolded his spouse in his arms to hold him close.

Gimli chuckled when he saw what his friend was about. “At least, he is trying to set things right,” he commented to Elladan.

The Elf-lord regarded his twin and law-brother with a slight smile. “Aye, ‘tis a start.” He shook his head bemusedly. “I wonder at Elrohir’s fortitude,” he admitted. “I would not put up with such mistreatment were I in his place.”

Gimli grunted disbelievingly. “Were it Nimeithel who treated you so shabbily, I wager you would be as forbearing as your brother,” he gibed. “Do not try to dupe me, Master Elf. I have been around your kind far longer than any sensible Dwarf ought!” 

Elladan had to grin at the Dwarf’s insightful observation. “I will not debate this with you, Gimli,” he smiled. “Now, who will take first watch?”

“I will,” Gimli decided. “I am still wound up from riding that nervous beast Legolas calls a horse!” He gestured with his head in the two Elves’ direction. “What of them?” 

Elladan looked back then shook his head. “Elrohir needs all the rest he can get,” he said. “And for this night I would have Legolas look after him. Let us share the watch between the two of us, my friend.”

The Dwarf nodded and picked up his axe. Just before he strode away, he looked once more at Elladan and said with surprising astuteness, “You shouldn’t worry about your wife overmuch, Peredhel. She’s a sight safer where she is, with midwives and healers about, than where _we_ are right now.”

With that he walked away leaving Elladan to stare at him, dumbfounded yet comforted.

Legolas came awake several hours later, noting when Gimli came back to rouse Elladan. He watched as the older twin took up his weapons and disappeared into the shadows beyond the reach of the campfire’s light. Gimli, on the other hand, promptly threw himself down on the opposite side of the fire. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

Legolas relaxed and shifted to check on Elrohir. The younger twin had turned away from him in his sleep but remained close within his embrace. Legolas gently brushed strands of blue-black hair from his cheek. In doing so, he became aware of Elrohir’s singular scent. He bent lower and inhaled it deeply. The clean rushing waters of the Bruinen came to mind. And the heather and pine on the hills of the vale. As well as sunshine and fresh air and meadows bedecked with wildflowers. It was wondrous. It was intoxicating. It was arousing.

Legolas tensed as he felt his body come alive and begin to demand release. Just his scent is enough to stir me, he thought with mingled awe and agitation. With each passing year, the Elf-knight became more and more of an irresistible temptation to him no matter now hard he struggled against it. He tried to suppress his need and moved slightly away from Elrohir.

It proved an unwise action for his darkling spouse, seeking his warmth even in sleep, pressed back against him even more closely than before. Legolas groaned as his groin told him most insistently that it was in dire need of attention. He peered down at his sleeping mate. It was yet another mistake.

His face aglow in the golden firelight, thickly lashed eyes closed in peaceful repose, sinuous lips slightly parted, Elrohir looked charmingly innocent, breathtakingly handsome and criminally enticing. There might have been an Elf in Arda who could resist this snare but Legolas knew himself not to be that Elf. 

He stole a glance at Gimli. That one would not wake up for anything less clamorous than a pack of screaming orcs. And Elladan... well, even if Elladan did look their way, which was unlikely given that he had just started his watch, the older twin was too seasoned a practitioner of the love-arts to be shocked.

Giving in to his desire, he pushed the dark tresses from the warrior’s neck and bent to press heated kisses against its length, suckling the sweet flesh here and there. At the same time, his hand slipped beneath the cloak to quickly loosen the lacing on his breeches. Done with that, he slid his hand around Elrohir’s hips and deftly undid his breeches as well.

Elrohir felt himself slowly roused from the depths of slumber by the searing caresses on his neck. Disoriented, he became aware of the prince’s lips on his skin and wondered confusedly what time it was that Legolas should be doing such things to him. And then he felt warm fingers slide beneath his trousers to fondle him and he came fully awake from the shock. 

“Legolas!” he gasped as the archer stroked him purposefully. “What-what are you— do-doing—?” he managed to utter. 

Legolas did not answer him but claimed his mouth with a ravaging kiss when he turned his head to look at him. When Elrohir involuntarily jerked away from his unbidden caresses, he swiftly sneaked his other arm under and around the Elf-knight’s body and pulled him back tightly against his own form. Robbed of speech, held snugly in his mate’s unyielding embrace, Elrohir could only try to hold on to his sentience as he was skillfully brought to full arousal. 

His breath caught when the archer pressed insistently against him from behind. A telltale hardness made patently clear what Legolas’s intentions were. As did the sudden hitching up of his tunic and shirt and the yanking down of his breeches to bare his backside. Before he could protest, the prince entered him in one fluid thrust. He barely managed to bite back a cry. 

It was so sudden, so unlooked for. Caught completely by surprise, he could only submit to Legolas’s desire. He stifled one moan, failed to suppress another, as Legolas drove relentlessly into him even as the archer’s hand rhythmically stroked his swollen length. The build up of tension and pleasure was fast and furious. He could hear the bit-back feral sounds coming from Legolas, the ragged breathing that foretold the explosive culmination sure to follow. Legolas’s rapidly mounting rapture invaded his senses even as his flooded the archer’s. He threw his head back against the prince’s shoulder, his own body as taut as a too tight bowstring about to snap. 

And then it did. And he was gasping hoarsely from the maelstrom of shared sensation seeping into every nook and cranny of his body; shuddering as Legolas took him hard and full as he, too, came to completion. 

For a long while they lay quietly, waiting for their hearts to slow down, their breathing to deepen once more. Legolas felt the lovely euphoria that came with their joint release envelope him like a warm blanket. Wordlessly, he hitched up their breeches then pressed a last kiss against Elrohir’s neck. He colored slightly when he saw the number of crimson marks he had left on the pale skin. 

Elrohir heard the prince’s sigh of gratification. He closed his eyes wearily, fumbling with the laces of his breeches. He was sated, true; had enjoyed the sensations that had swept through and over his entire being. But he had been so fatigued and needful of sleep when Legolas roused him. Now he was exhausted anew. He resisted his body’s urgings to relax and lie back. He did not want to mar Legolas’ contentment and he would surely do so should the archer catch a glimpse of his face.

But he did not reckon with the prince’s growing sensitivity to the nuances of his demeanor. Legolas did not fail to notice the curious tension in his body, his refusal to turn over and lie back comfortably. Unease filled the prince's mind. What was wrong?

“Aduial?” he whispered. “What is it? What ails you?” He noted Elrohir’s start of surprise; realized the Elf-knight had thought he would not notice his unusual behavior. “Elrohir, were you not— were you not pleased?” he asked uncertainly. “Did I hurt you?”

Elrohir had to respond. “Nay, you did not hurt me,” he murmured. “Nor did you displease me.”

“Then why do I feel that I did?” came the low, suddenly insecure voice. 

It was too much. He could not leave Legolas feeling thus. He lay back and looked up into the archer’s anxious countenance. “How could you displease me?” he softly said. “‘Tis only that I was weary and did not expect this.”

A frown creased the prince’s smooth brow. Suddenly, comprehension smote him with a blistering blast. He stared at the warrior, then let out a sharp breath and lowered his eyes. 

“Legolas?” Elrohir stroked the archer’s cheek gently.

The blue eyes lifted to meet his gaze. They were full of shame. “I did it again, didn’t I?” he said in a hushed, pained voice. “I took what I wanted without— without considering your needs.”

Elrohir saw the contrition in the suddenly dulled eyes. He raised his hands, cupped the finely sculpted cheeks in his palms. “I know you meant well, Legolas,” he whispered. “I did not mean to snatch your joy from you.” He pulled him down into a deep kiss. 

Legolas clung to him, returning the kiss with a fervor closer to desperation than affection. When the caress ended, he laid his head on the warrior’s shoulder and mournfully said, “I am sorry I disturbed your rest. I only wanted you so much that I did not stop to think about how you might feel about it.” 

He bit his lip to keep it from trembling. One thing he could not bring himself to do and that was to shed tears in front of anyone, not even his Elf-rider. Only once before, more than two millennia ago had he forsaken his pride enough to do so. 

Elrohir held him fast. “Do not think your passion unwelcome,” he said soothingly. “Nothing makes me happier than to know you desire me. Especially if you do so out of love for me,” he added quietly.

“I do, beloved,” Legolas whispered earnestly, looking up at the twin. “I would never take you in anything but love.”

Elrohir felt a wave of relief wash through him. Unwittingly, Legolas had answered at least one of his questions about their relationship. Whatever other reasons the archer may have had for being the dominant lover of late, at least, he always did so out of love. That was reassuring to the warrior and infinitely sweet to know.

“Do not let this trouble you further,” he told his golden spouse. “Truly, I enjoyed your attentions. I would not mind being awakened thusly should you think to do this again.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone.

Legolas heard it and had to smile. His anxiety dissipating a little, he put his arms around Elrohir once more. “I told you I would keep you warm while you slept,” he said.

“You did much more than warm me,” Elrohir smiled. 

The archer had the grace to blush as he pulled the cloak over them. On the other side of the fire, Gimli slept on, totally oblivious of what had just occurred but a few steps from his position.

_To be continued…_


	10. IX. Devilry in Abundance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sci-fi film inspired this particular chapter. It spawned three sequels the last of which was shown in the late 1990s.

They saw the black fortress from afar, looming like a dark shadow over the eastern pass of the range. It stood alone save for a scattering of tall sturdy trees along its walls. At one end, a lone tower spiraled upwards, its design reminiscent not of this age or even the last but of the Elder Days. Indeed, the twins realized in shock, it harkened to the look of the buildings of ancient Gondolin as seen in the preserved paintings and tapestries they had seen of that fabled city.

Lomion, be he Maeglin or not, either had an inordinate liking for ancient architecture or, more perturbing, hailed from that long ago age himself. 

They swiftly traversed the distance to the narrow zigzagging trail that led up the hill upon which the stronghold stood. Here, they held counsel before proceeding. It was then that the others’ concern for Elrohir surfaced. 

“We will go on, _gwanneth_ ,” Elladan said. “You had best remain here.” 

At Elrohir’s scowl, Legolas added soothingly: “You are still not quite recovered. We would not have you face peril so soon.”

“And you think me safe here? Alone?” Elrohir countered. “What if a horde of orcs should come upon me or, worse, more of those feeders? You will have to tie me down to keep me from going with you. In which case, I would be defenseless and as likely to perish as you.”

They could not dissuade him. He would go with them whether they wished it or not. 

Leaving their mounts behind they scaled the hill, avoiding the track lest they be seen by any sentries. Coming up to the fortress they avoided detection by climbing a tall tree that practically overlooked the western wall of the compound. They studied the lay of the fortress and its fortifications. There was one great gate and two other smaller ones. All three were guarded but not heavily so and only a handful of orcs patrolled the walls themselves. So few in numbers were they that they had utterly missed the Elves’ approach.

Inside, there was a stone courtyard: a stark and cold open space. A few scattered goblins could be seen; some busily gaming on the steps of the keep while others sauntered to and fro. Further on, to the rear of the central building, they saw a long, low-roofed structure. Orcs moved in and out of it; it looked to be the barracks. They studied the keep itself.

It was beautiful in a disturbing way. Definitely of ancient Noldorin design, it was wrought of stone so dark a grey that it seemed almost black from a distance even in bright daylight. The twins guessed the stones must have been quarried from the northern reaches of the Ered Mithrin. While the keep sported one wide entrance, numerous doors dotted its sides as did narrow windows and a number of half-shuttered balconies. One thing it did not have and that was open galleries, which were common to most elven structures. It was a closed building that sought to hold its secrets. 

The sole turret soared high above the rest of the building, a forbidding many-windowed column that easily dominated the entire stronghold. But if it had been built as a means of easily surveying the surrounding lands below the fortress, it was not serving its purpose at the moment. The Elves could see little activity through the windows of the turret. For that matter, there were few orcs even within the main wing of the keep itself if the lack of movement as seen through its various openings was indicative of their absence.

Their enemy did not seem too concerned about keeping his domain alert against the possibility of an attack. Did sorcery guard the stronghold or was its lord so confident of its isolation that he had not troubled to fortify it overmuch? 

“I had expected this fortress to be better defended,” Gimli snorted, sounding rather disappointed. 

Legolas noted Elrohir’s sudden stillness. The younger twin was staring at the keep with narrowed eyes.

“Aduial? What is it?” he softly asked.

Elrohir kept staring at the building. “There are Elves in the keep,” he murmured, a look of intense concentration on his face. “I can sense their presence.”

Elladan and Legolas stared at him then opened themselves to the tenuous connection Elrohir had tapped into. Elladan grimaced at length. “Aye, there are Elves in there. Or what used to be Elves.”

Gimli growled. “You mean, they’ve been turned into feeders?”

Elladan nodded. “And now I understand the lack of any real defense. Lomion may have gathered a small army of orcs and provided them with weapons and armor, but they are little more than raiders to him. ‘Twas they who ambushed the caravans and settlements and carried the women away. But they are not his main means of conquest.” He stared at the keep with barely suppressed rage. “This is not so much a fortress as a breeding center for his creatures.”

“Who once unleashed in full will prove exceedingly difficult to defeat particularly if Lomion shields them with armor,” Elrohir added.

“They were fearsome enough even without armor,” Legolas murmured, recalling their harrowing encounter in the high clearing by the mountain forest. 

“Then we must go in and destroy them soonest,” Gimli declared. 

“Hush!” Legolas hissed, eyes trained on the near wall.

Two guards came strolling along the top of the rampart directly beneath them. They never reached the other end. A pair of hands shot down, grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks and, before they could so much as squeal, hauled them up into the tree. A moment later their bodies were tossed down the steep slope below; they rolled to the bottom of the hill. Any who came across the corpses would think the fools had fallen from their perch and broken their necks as a result.

The Elves dropped lightly to the wall then helped Gimli descend. They raced down the side stairs leading to the courtyard. The orcs on guard never even heard them coming. In seconds, the space was littered with their carcasses. 

An orc re-entering the fortress stopped in his tracks and gawked at the sight of corpses strewn about. He dashed for the barracks, shouting harshly to sound the alarm. His fellows came streaming out to see what all the commotion was about. They watched in shock as he suddenly stopped, stood stock still with the oddest look on his face then pitched forward on his face. They gawked at the arrow that stuck straight up out of his back. 

And then pandemonium broke out. A lethal shower of arrows from above soon decimated their ranks. Those who escaped the deadly rain found their way blocked by a tall Elf and one doughty Dwarf. An instant later, Elrohir and Legolas came up behind the startled orcs. The resulting fight was brutal. These orcs were no more skilled than the goblins the Elves and Gimli had fought earlier. But they were just as savage and bloodthirsty. And for those who wore it, were well protected by their armor.

Eventually, skill and experience proved the better of sheer ferocity and the orcs were slowly overcome. Gimli roared smugly at Legolas as he smote yet another goblin, making the Elf-prince grin at him in return. They were therefore startled when a piercing shriek rose above the clamor. 

Through the corner of his eye, Legolas saw that a door on the far side of the keep had been flung open. A score of well-armed orcs poured out. And in their midst were a half-dozen women in filmy grey raiment. But these women had been fitted with full helms of galvorn that protected their throats and breastplates that shielded their torsos. Thus attired they looked like the pagan war goddesses of the eastern lands. 

Gimli rolled his eyes upon seeing them. “Not again!” he grumbled. 

The battle turned eminently perilous as Elves and Dwarf squared off against the fresh contingent of orcs and the feeders. And for the longest while, it looked as if things would go ill for the invaders. Until Elladan discovered by a most fortuitous accident the one weak point in the feeders’ armor. Fending off one of them, he sought to slice up her jaw to slow her down at the very least. But she jerked her face away and his blade slid into the narrow seam where helm joined neckpiece and plunged straight into the creature’s throat. He yanked his sword out and watched in some disbelief as the feeder collapsed in a lifeless heap. 

Timely edification indeed!

Meanwhile, Gimli found himself cornered by five orcs. Wielding his axe with relish he soon reduced the number to two. But as he gutted one goblin, the last one caught him from behind, forcing him to drop his axe. He struggled vigorously, trying to break free of the orc’s shackling arms. It was then that he realized what the orc was up to. A feeder was fast approaching them, her hands extended to cup his face. 

Gimli bellowed in fury, bucking and kicking at the goblin behind him then lashing out with his feet at the woman. Two of his kicks caught her in the neck as she doubled over from a blow to her belly. But they glanced off the black metal that enclosed her throat, leaving not so much as a dent. She straightened up; he saw a blur of clutching fingers. Instinctively, he ducked his head just as she grabbed at him. She ended up with his orkish opponent’s face in her hands instead. The goblin howled in agony as the feeder started to drain him in lieu of the Dwarf. 

Gimli broke free then regarded the hapless duo in mixed bemusement and amusement. The orc was positively ripe with terror and pain while the woman only stared at him with a vacuous expression. Grabbing his fallen axe the Dwarf gave but a moment to the thought that apparently the transformation of these women did nothing for their brains if they’d been bird-wits to begin with! Aiming for the weak spot in the creature’s helm, he lopped off both her head and the orc’s in one swing. As the now headless trunks sagged to the ground, he nodded with satisfaction then plunged right back into the fray.

The battle-happy Dwarf-lord soon noticed a feeder stalking Legolas as the prince waded into a scrappy group of orcs. Too far to fling his axe with precision, he caught up an orc lance and heaved it with all his might at the woman. It caught her just below her breastplate and pinned her to the wooden wall of the barracks. Legolas, having dealt with his opponents, called his thanks to his friend then turned to the writhing feeder. Strong as she was, she could not pull the lance out, so deeply embedded was it in the wall. She began to wriggle along it, literally passing herself along its length to get off it. She stopped, however, when she saw Legolas nearing her. And then, surprisingly, she ceased her movements and slumped upon the protruding lance. 

Moving in for the kill, Legolas was taken aback when the creature spoke.

“Release me, my prince,” she begged. “End this torment.” 

Legolas came closer and stared at the woman. She looked vaguely familiar despite the black wells of her eyes. With a start he realized she was an Elf. His blood ran cold. Had they already emerged?

“Who are you?” he asked in a low voice.

“Nelleth,” she rasped.

Legolas gasped in shock. Nelleth had been a lady of his father’s court. Long ago he had held nothing but contempt for her due to her unseemly rapacious conduct. But eventually, she had mellowed and wed and migrated with her husband and family to the north of Greenwood. Their settlement had been the first to be raided. She had been amongst the Elven women who had vanished in the wake of that attack. 

“Slay me,” the Elf-woman pleaded. Her eyes changed, the blackness fading until Legolas could see the irises she had been born with. They were crystal clear gray. There was no longer any doubt. It was Nelleth. 

He moved to pull out the lance but she immediately recoiled. “Nay!” she hissed. “I will not be able to stop myself. I will kill you.” She panted in pain. “You must release me... the others. Let us depart... to the Halls of Mandos... Help us find peace.”

Legolas drew his breath in sharply. “Have the others been unleashed?”

“Not yet... I am the first. But they will soon be ready. You must stop them... before they emerge.”

“Where are they?” 

“The breeding chamber... eastern wing of the keep. But the talisman... is kept on a high altar... the tower.”

“Talisman?”

“That which has kept our master alive... feeds him the life energy we suck from our victims. He cannot be slain... so long as it exists. Destroy it... he will bleed and die... as will we.” She raised her head and gazed at him imploringly once more. “I was a loyal subject... release me. Have mercy, son of Thranduil.” The blackness took over her eyes once more. With awful suddenness she tried to grab Legolas’s face in her hands.

Legolas lunged back in horror. The creature, no, the ruined Elf-lady continued to flail her arms, trying to reach him. Pity and revulsion filled him even as a cold rage at the monster who had violated her took root within him. Gimli came up and wordlessly handed him his axe. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Legolas hefted it and decapitated her with one clean stroke.

Looking about, he realized the fighting had died down and that the twins were finishing off the last of the orcs. The four gathered in the center of the bloodied yard. Legolas swiftly recounted what he had learned from Nelleth.

“That door must lead to the breeding chamber,” he said, pointing to the passageway from which the women had emerged. 

Elladan hurriedly made a decision. “Gimli and I will search for the talisman, _gwanneth_. You and Legolas take care of destroying the feeders.”

They split up, the older twin and the Dwarf hurrying toward the tower wing while the lovers headed for the open door.

It led into a dim and winding corridor lit only intermittently by candles. At the end of the passageway was a heavy wooden door. Elrohir lifted his hand and gingerly pushed it open. 

They entered a large chamber illuminated only by torches. Their nostrils were immediately assailed by a queer odor. It was not foul but it was unpleasant nonetheless. It reminded them of the unwashed pelts of carrion eaters. Feral and unwholesome.

The chamber was windowless and dank and chilly. Elrohir could not help a slight shiver as his still less than fully recovered body reacted to the cold. The floor was of stone as were three walls but the far wall was of wood and rotting wood at that. The damp atmosphere had obviously done its worst on it. The two looked about in ever waxing loathing and horror. 

“Oh Eru,” Legolas breathed shakily. 

Slender spun casings of greyish white lined the walls. A few hung from the ceiling. They looked liked large _gwilwileth_ cocoons. Approaching the closest forms, they found they could actually see through the porous material. Shuddering, they espied the women within, their countenances evincing great suffering as their bodies were warped into instruments of wickedness. 

They noticed some casings moving, as if the creatures within were trying to break out. Alarmed, Elrohir snatched a torch from the wall.

“Are we going to burn them?” Legolas queried with distaste. 

“I see no other way to end this soonest,” Elrohir said. “We cannot possibly slit all their throats!” 

He held his torch to one cocoon, lighting it at the approximate location of the creature’s throat. As he and Legolas watched in sorrow, the entire casing began to writhe and jerk and a keening cry emanated from within. And then it went still and was wholly consumed by the flames. 

Legolas grabbed a torch as well and the two of them set to their grisly task. It was gruesome going as the unearthly screams of the encased feeders rang through the chamber. Elrohir paused to watch Legolas set the suspended cocoons afire with flaming arrows. 

He was just turning back to burn the remaining cocoons near the wooden wall when two suddenly split open. He called out a warning to Legolas as he unsheathed his sword. One feeder emerged, her body glistening with a clear, slightly viscous liquid, her dark hair plastered wetly to her head, neck and back. One moment she gazed at Elrohir with seemingly lucid eyes. But in the next they blackened into shadowed wells and she began to approach him, the fluids of her ghastly metamorphosis trailing behind her. 

Elrohir had only a second to note her delicately tipped elven ears before she shrilled hungrily and lunged at him. A moment later, her body collapsed to the stone floor while her head tumbled away. He quickly turned to the other cocoon only to find it empty.

”Elrohir!”

Too late. Legolas raced to his mate as the other feeder pounced on him. But Elrohir fought back furiously, ramming his elbow into the creature’s belly. She screeched angrily and threw him against the wall then rushed him. He thrust his sword straight out at her and it ran right through her throat. But her momentum was such that she crashed into him with violent force. 

Before Legolas’s horrified eyes, the rotting wall gave way and they vanished into the darkness beyond. And then the roof directly above caved in and came crashing down to block up the hole. 

Barely waiting for the dust to settle, Legolas desperately tore at the great blocks of stone and thick beams of heavy wood. To no avail. He was separated from Elrohir by a veritable mountain of rubble. 

************************************  
Glossary:  
gwilwileth – butterfly

_To be continued…_


	11. X. The Face of Evil

Legolas almost howled in frustration as he glared at the blocked up passage. His first impulse was to rush out of the chamber and search for Elrohir. But as he looked about at the burning cocoons, he forced himself to calm down and think rationally.

Elrohir had killed the creature, of that Legolas was certain. At least, she was no longer a threat to him. Knowing the Elf-knight, he was probably already up on his feet and seeking a way out of wherever he had fallen. At least, Legolas fervently hoped so. In the meantime, he had a task to finish. Elrohir would chide him mercilessly if he did not.

He hastened to destroy the last of the encased feeders before finally leaving the chamber to look for his mate.

oOoOoOo

Elladan and Gimli warily entered the tower wing. Their caution was more than understandable. Just as they had neared the tower, the rear gate of the fortress had suddenly opened and several orcs had entered. That they had not been expecting trouble was apparent from their relaxed manner. Preferring to avoid more confrontations and get to their goal soonest, Elf and Dwarf had melted into the shadows and allowed the goblins to pass them. To their frustration, the creatures lingered by the gate for an exasperatingly long time, bickering pointlessly about some trifling matter or another before finally shuffling on.

The two knew they would have to act quickly. Once the orcs saw the corpse-littered yard, they would hunt for the intruders. 

Sure enough, they had just located a side door to the wing when they heard the first screams of outrage. Fortunately, the door was not locked and they were able to slip in quietly. Now they hurriedly crept down the small hall, searching until they discovered a flight of winding stairs. A quick look told them the stairs led up into the turret. They ascended, ever alert for guards.

To their surprise, about two thirds of the way up, they came to an empty chamber. But within the chamber was another flight of stairs. They lifted their eyes to the top of it and saw another landing and atop this flat space was a great stone slab. An altar from the look of it. Above that, arched buttresses held up a curved ceiling. Light streamed in from a series of tall windows just below the ceiling line. 

They were just about to climb the stairs when a dozen orcs burst into the chamber. Elladan gritted his teeth as he and Gimli fought off the goblins. They could not afford any more delays. Elbereth only knew what was happening elsewhere. What if Elrohir and Legolas had run into more trouble with the feeders and right there deep in their nest? 

When he and the Dwarf had reduced the goblins to half their number, he yelled, “Go, Gimli! I will take care of the rest!”

He plowed straight into the orcs, blade flashing wickedly, while Gimli hurried up the narrow steps, sturdy axe ready.

oOoOoOo

Elrohir shoved the dead feeder off him and rose to his feet. Eyeing the wreckage before him, he quickly realized there was no way back through the gap in the wall. Sheathing his sword, he looked about and saw he was in a wide, unlit hallway. He began to traverse it, wondering if he was going in the right direction. If he could only locate a window, he would be able to get his bearings.

He came upon an arched open door. Passing through it, he discovered that it led into a large, semi-circular chamber. A chamber that was sparsely furnished but furnished for comfort nonetheless.

There was a hearth to one side, cold and dark for now. And by it were an elegant armchair and a large side table covered with scrolls and books. 

On the other end, against a tapestry-hung wall, was a low, wide divan graced by plush cushions. Tall paned windows along one wall opened up the room to daylight. Elrohir walked to them and looked out. The room overlooked the courtyard; he now had an idea where in the keep he was at the moment. 

He began to head back for the door when he suddenly sensed a presence approaching. A presence so malignant he was reminded of the last battle before the Morannon. It was then, as he fought Sauron’s minions on the Dark Lord’s very doorstep, that he had felt his malice at its sharpest. It was the same now, this evil that neared the chamber though not the overwhelming power of Sauron before the One Ring was unmade. He did not know whether to be apprehensive of the former or grateful for the latter. 

A shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. With lightning quickness, Elrohir shot an arrow into the darkened form just as it entered the room. It ran through the stranger’s throat with a sickening thud. But to Elrohir’s shock, the figure remained standing. And began to softly laugh.

It came into the dim light, tall as an Elf and graceful as a woman. But if Elrohir expected to be confronted with a female he was in for another shock. 

The face that he beheld was that of an Elf. A male Elf. He had long black hair and clear grey elven eyes. And he was comely in the way the Firstborn were comely. But there were some things not right about him. 

The light in his eyes was unholy and the pallor of his skin made him seem more akin to the dead than the living. And his form beneath his floor-length robes… Elrohir was certain he had seen a woman’s form earlier but now there was no trace of it. It was almost as if the feminine curves had melted away into the hard planes of a man. And then there was that arrow still protruding from his throat.

“Well done!” the being said, casually plucking the arrow from his throat. “I have been observing you and your friends’ progress thus far. I must commend you. The four of you were more than a match for a whole garrison of orcs. Really, I will have to train the others more thoroughly.” Catching Elrohir’s start of surprise, he smiled indulgently. “Aye, there are more of them encamped on the northern face of this hill. A troop has already arrived though they do not know yet of your mischief. But they will soon enough and when they do... They are poor soldiers but excellent trackers. They will find your companions. And when I am done with you, I will join them and your friends will pay dearly for their daring.” He shook his head with mock regret. “I will concede, however, that was clever of you to burn up my menagerie though hardly pleasing to me. I shall now have to rebuild my collection this spring. How annoying of you to set me back by several months.”

He moved closer, peered speculatively at Elrohir. “But I must say you are a remarkable warrior, _pen neth_ , despite your weakening.” At the twin’s quick scowl, he added smoothly, “Oh aye, I can sense the diminishment of your strength and know the reason for it. You encountered one of my pets earlier. Foolish of her to think she could take on an immortal single-handedly. But before you killed her, I tasted something of your unique flavor.” He ran his tongue musingly over his lips, as if savoring a delicacy at a banquet. "'Tis unusual. You are obviously an _Edhel_ yet you carry the essence of mortal-kind within you. How passing strange. I had thought the only Peredhel in Middle-earth to be Tuor’s misbegotten half-breed son.” 

The voice was relaxed, almost languid, but Elrohir was not deceived. There was a wickedness in his opponent that he had not felt since the downfall of Sauron. It left him chilled and as tense as a drawn bowstring.

Of a sudden, Elrohir realized something. This creature was no omnipotent being as evidenced by his lack of knowledge of the dynastic propagation of the Peredhil through the ages. But even more significant was his ignorance of Elladan and Gimli’s intent. He knew of the burning of the crèche of feeders in the breeding chamber but not of the intent to destroy the object that held him to life. 

The others could deal with poorly trained orcs but he did not know what harm Maeglin was capable of wreaking on them nor did he wish for them to find out. He had to keep the Elf here with him as long as he could, keep him occupied, hold his attention to give his brother and Gimli the chance to find and destroy the talisman. He could only pray that the orcs would not discover either their or Legolas’s whereabouts too soon.

He regarded his nemesis with open contempt. “You are Maeglin, son of Aredhel of Gondolin,” he said, his voice hard and accusing.

The cold grey eyes widened with some surprise. Then they tempered into pleased amusement.

“Ah, so you know. How perceptive of you,” Maeglin almost purred. “But truly, I prefer Lomion. ‘Twas the name my mother chose for me, you see.”

“You were thrown from the Caragdûr by Tuor himself. How did you survive it?” Elrohir demanded, playing for as much time as possible. 

“A pretty warrior and a brave one, Lomion,” said a woman’s voice from out of nowhere. It was low and husky with an edge of malice. Elrohir stared. The voice seemed to have come from Maeglin himself. “Why not tell him our story? It would be quite amusing to see his reaction.”

Maeglin eyed Elrohir with a different kind of interest. “Aye, Alieth, it would be amusing.” He sauntered nonchalantly to the armchair by the hearth and sank into it. He knew and Elrohir knew that he was in no danger and so he could afford to be incautious.

“Now, where shall I begin my tale?” he mused with a smirk.

oOoOoOo

Legolas had just emerged from the passageway to the breeding chamber when he spotted a large band of goblins entering the courtyard from the rear gate. He cursed under his breath and ducked behind a pillar. He had thought they’d rid the fortress of all of its foul denizens. He watched as the orcs began to howl and quarrel at first sight of their dead comrades. One of them, apparently their leader, began to give orders. A few were dispatched to check the breeding chamber. Another handful entered the main wing.

Legolas eyed the goblins as they disappeared into the keep. He needed to follow them to get to Elrohir. Focusing on their bond, he found he could sense his mate however ephemeral the connection. It beckoned to him, growing strong when he chose the right way, fading when he chose the wrong. And it told him most emphatically that Elrohir was somewhere within the center of the hold. 

His breath caught as he saw the remainder of the troop head for the tower wing. _Valar!_ They would find Elladan and Gimli, he thought in consternation. He had to draw some of them away lest they overcome the two. With one last thought for his Elf-knight, he boldly stepped into plain sight and began to loose arrows into the backs of the charging orcs. 

It had the desired effect. A third of them turned in fury and dashed back to confront him. Continuing to cut them down as they neared him, Legolas hoped the older twin and his Dwarf friend would be able to deal with the remaining two-thirds that pressed on toward the tower.

oOoOoOo

While Elladan staved off the orcs below, Gimli reached the top of the stairs. Huffing slightly from the exertion of climbing so high and swiftly, he approached the altar eagerly. He stared at the thing that he was tasked to destroy and sharply sucked in his breath.

There was a clear dome of some glassy substance upon the altar. In its very center lay a square-cut crystal set within a skillfully wrought web of _mithril_. The crystal was pitch black but its depths gleamed blue and violet in the light. Child of the mountains and the forge, Gimli could appreciate its beauty. But he could not covet it. It looked and felt unholy. It pulsated with unnatural energy; he could literally see tiny bolts of light streak across just below its surface. 

Mouth grim, he hoisted his axe to smash the protective dome. He brought it down hard. To his shock, the dome did not give. He brought his axe down again and again, determined to unhouse the talisman. So intent was he that he failed to mark the shadow that emerged from behind the arched buttress above the altar. 

Elladan slew the last of his foes and looked up to see how Gimli was doing. The stealthy movement caught his notice and he gasped as it came into the light. He beheld a many legged creature just off to Gimli’s right.

“Gimli, beware! Above you!” he cried out in warning.

The Dwarf glanced up too late. The spider-like creature had thrown itself against him. They both fell to the floor. Before he could react, the monster buried its fangs in his shoulder. Gimli roared as incredible pain seared his shoulder. Almost blacking out from the agony, he desperately pummeled the creature with his fist while, with his other hand, he scrabbled for the fallen axe.

Below, turmoil broke out anew when a fresh party of orcs converged on Elladan. As he plunged into battle once more, the Elf-lord managed to spare one worried glance at the struggle up high before he was forced to attend to the business of staying alive.

oOoOoOo

Unmindful of the sounds of strife just below his chamber’s windows, Maeglin unfolded a tale of almost unbelievable dimensions. Elrohir listened with mingled horror and fascination, wondering at the never-ending possibilities for the impossible in these Hinter Lands.

“I fell from cruel Caragdûr, cast down by the unworthy hands of a mere mortal. I, Maeglin, kinsman of Turgon, scion of the royal house of Gondolin, brought low by a lowly _adan_. I struck the Amon Gwareth three times before hurtling into the flames below. They left me for dead, believing me vanquished. But what they did not know was that I had in my keeping a gift from Morgoth himself. ‘Twas not only a king’s daughter and a kingdom he promised me in exchange for Gondolin’s ruin. He gifted me with a talisman of his devising. He knew I would need its protection. He was cruel with those who defied him, but those who served him well he greatly rewarded.”

“The talisman binds me to this life. So long as it exists, I exist. And that was Morgoth’s intent for me. That I lived to govern the thralls of Gondolin for him with my beloved at my side. What neither he nor I anticipated was that Tuor would throw me down the Amon Gwareth into fire. For the crystal’s power had not yet waxed to its fullest and fire could still harm my body though not destroy it.” 

“Burned was I beyond recognition by those accursed flames. I lived, but I did not look as one of the living. Any who saw me, Elf or Man, feared me as a monster and hunted me. I fled east and hid in the Ered Luin. I could not afford to damage my body any more than it was already. Only a spell Morgoth had set upon the crystal would allow me to regain what I had lost. But every Elf in Beleriand now knew of my pact with him and, with all set against me, there was little chance of using it. And so I hid in the deeps of the mountains and bided my time, caught between waking and dreaming. Until at last I heard a great tumult and crept out and saw the destruction of the lands west of the Ered Luin in the Great Battle.”

“I rejoiced then. They who had snatched my rightful place from me had paid the ultimate price themselves. The loss of their realms, the end of all they had striven for, the return in humble repentance to Aman. It was revenge of the sweetest kind.” 

“But it did not change my circumstances. I was still but a mere shell of my former beauty and strength. Only the talisman kept me from slipping into the Halls of Awaiting. I needed to find a new house for my _fëa_. An immortal and willing house that would permit me to reshape it into my former countenance and body. That was the one weakness of Morgoth’s spell on the talisman. I could not force my _fëa_ on a new host. Not that he believed I would ever need to and so we gave little thought to it.” 

“I left the Ered Luin and made for the unknown lands in the east. Until at last, I came to these mountains, exhausted in body and weary in spirit. I found a cavern wherein to rest and ponder my dismal future. And there the talisman wove a spell yet unknown to me. It put me to sleep. A sleep so deep it lasted for nigh two ages.”

“That was how Alieth found me. She was a Silvan sorceress in the service of Sauron, my Lord Morgoth’s lieutenant. Ah, you are shocked. Did you think all _Edhil_ had set themselves against the Dark Lord? There were some amongst the Wood-elves who cleaved to Sauron and served his cause though none save Alieth survived the War to tell their tales. As I was saying, she found me. Her master had fallen and all his servants had fled the ruins of Mordor and his fortress in Greenwood, fearful of retribution by his foes. Alieth had served him in Dol Guldur and remained there even when he forsook it for Mordor. When the Witch-queen of Lórien destroyed it, she escaped to the north, eluding the Elves, Dwarves and Men who had only lately battled Sauron’s orcs.”

“She came to my cave, drawn by the power of the talisman. And when she beheld my charred body, she did not recoil as others had but recognized me as a kindred spirit. She woke me and heard my tale. She understood how greatly she would benefit from union with me. And so she offered her body to house my spirit.”

“With the power of the talisman, I abandoned my ruined form and moved into hers. It was only then that I discovered the whole of the spell. I could remold my old form using Alieth’s flesh and bones but she could also take her shape if I willed it. And so we could share each other’s knowledge and skills and, wondrously enough, even each other’s pleasures.”

“Alieth is an avid worshipper of the carnal arts, her considerable appetite quite insatiable. But her womanhood worked against her. While she has occasionally indulged herself in female-kind, her preference is for male-flesh. Unfortunately, she could only seduce if she coveted any; she could not ravish. Her union with me changed that. Alieth now knows the joys of taking what she desires whenever and however she desires the taking.” 

“You are repulsed! Ah, but you do not comprehend the exquisite pleasure of breaching a man and watching his face change as his ravager’s countenance alters into a woman’s. It is a priceless experience, I assure you! And entertaining as well. Especially when I take over afterwards to ensure his silence.”

“But I digress. With body and strength restored, it was a simple matter to take control of the orcs of these mountains. They are simple-minded creatures, really, in dire need of guidance if they hope to flourish anon. They built this fortress for me. It is very much in the likeness of my old abode in Gondolin save for the color of its stone.” 

“And now you must be wondering how I came to breed my pets. I credit Alieth with that. ‘Twas something Sauron had started to experiment with when he abided in Dol Guldur. But circumstances caught up with him and he was perforce compelled to abandon it before he perfected the process. When Alieth returned to his tower, she continued his work and eventually achieved what he had not. This knowledge she had planned to present to Sauron soon after. Unfortunately, he was vanquished by a rag-tag army of men and two miserable Halflings ere she could go to him.”

“Thus her hard-won knowledge came to me instead and, as you have seen, we have put it to good use. For with every life that is sucked dry, my strength and invincibility grows ever greater. Despite your lamentable interference, I will soon have a fine band of feeders once more to do my bidding. I now have enough orcs at my beck and call to take on whole villages and towns for my needs. Aye, even the Wood-elves’ realm is no longer beyond my reach. And Alieth and I have learned how to hasten the breeding process as well. Before this year is over, I will become so powerful, Middle-earth will think Sauron a mere fledgling in the arts of sorcery and conquest!” 

“And so we have come to the end of my tale. A marvellous one, do you not agree?”

Elrohir drew a deep, calming breath. What Maeglin had recounted to him seemed almost too impossible to believe. Yet he could not deny that the Elf’s narration resonated with the force of its veracity. 

He continued to stall for time. “The orc who told me your name claimed you took care of the cold-drakes,” he said. “Is this true?”

Maeglin shrugged. “All too true.”

“How?”

“My, you are an inquisitive one.” Another shrug. “‘Twas a simple task for a sorceress of Alieth’s talent. She simply channeled the sun’s heat and slowly baked them to death.”

Elrohir gasped, appalled by so ruthless an act of destruction. Maeglin laughed. “Oh, you need not worry about a repeat of such a feat. Alieth says it took too much out of her and that she has no desire to try it again.”

“But the talisman? I do not see it on you. Why do you not wear it?”

“There is no need. It is bound to me and I to it. And where I have kept it, it does more good for as it keeps me from death, so does it protect my creations. As you have seen, they do not succumb to injury. Except for their necks!” Maeglin snickered. “It seems there is no such thing as an error-free spell!”

He suddenly looked at Elrohir and smiled. It was a most wicked smile. 

Elrohir noted the malevolent glow in the other’s eyes. He licked suddenly dry lips. “You have regaled me with your tale when you could have easily done away with me,” he said. “Why have you spared me thus far?”

Maeglin chuckled. The sound raised Elrohir’s hackles. The older Elf said, “Alieth my dear, I believe ‘tis time for you to answer him.”

He rose from the chair and faced Elrohir. An instant later, to the Elf-knight’s shock, his head seemed to shimmer out of focus and another appeared in its place. And his body’s symmetrical lines altered as well, softening and filling out to become distinctly feminine.

Dark red hair crowned a delicately sculpted oval face from which a pair of almond-shaped aquamarine eyes peered out. A graceful aquiline nose and a generous mouth of richest rose completed the woman’s features. Elrohir stared at a countenance of stunning beauty and allure. And unspeakable malice. 

***************************  
Glossary:  
Edhel, Edhil – Elf, Elves  
fëa – Quenya for spirit  
pen neth – younger one  
adan – man

_To be continued…_


	12. XI. Unholy Desire

Gimli managed to grasp the handle of his axe. With a mighty effort, he one-handedly swung it, embedding the blade in the spider-creature’s skull or whatever passed for a skull in it. It shrieked and released him. As it scrabbled away from him, Gimli wrenched the axe free. 

But the beast was still able to fight and it reared, ready to pounce on its erstwhile victim. It did not look like the spiders of Mirkwood but it may have been their distant kin. It was smaller and bristly with claw-tipped appendages but, thankfully, had no venom in its bite. Gimli glowered at it in rage. 

“Come on, you mangy excuse for a monster!” he bellowed, brandishing his axe.

The creature leaped at him but without the element of surprise it was less effective. Gimli dealt it several serious blows until, finally, he lopped off two limbs. As the limbs concerned were what the beast had been using at the moment to cling to its perch, their sudden loss caused it to topple over and fall to the ground far below. It landed with a hideous squelch atop several orcs, trembled violently for a moment, before going still. 

Glancing down after the creature, Gimli took a quick look to see how Elladan was doing. To his relief, the Elf-lord had dispatched the rest of his foes quite nicely. Bleeding profusely from the wound in his shoulder, the stouthearted Dwarf determinedly resumed his attempts to destroy the talisman.

Meanwhile, Elladan had managed to shut the heavy door to the chamber. Grabbing two of the scattered black swords, he quickly slid them across the latch. He finished not a moment too soon as evinced by the pounding from outside that indicated more orcs were trying to get in. He kept an eye on the door, sword ready, just in case they managed to break in.

oOoOoOo

“You are a comely thing, _maethoren_ ”—my warrior—Alieth said crooningly as she approached the Elf-knight. “And a feisty one.”

She suddenly lifted her hand and ran the back of her fingers down Elrohir’s cheek. He jerked away and stepped back out of reach, eyes hard and wary.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded tightly though he feared he already knew the answer.

She laughed softly. “Why, you, pretty one,” she said. “I would have you.”

Elrohir felt a wave of loathing sweep through him. The very thought of being touched by the abomination before him shriveled his soul. 

“I would die first, witch,” he said, almost spitting out the words.

Her eyes narrowed though she smiled. “You will die then,” she agreed. “But before you do, you will know what it means to spurn me.”

Elrohir started and whirled around as the chamber door slammed shut on its own. He noted with foreboding that the top of the panel was open but barred. It recalled to him the dungeons of men. Suddenly, he understood what the chamber had been used for and what manner of occupants had been confined within. He looked back at the sorceress. 

She had vanished and Maeglin stood before him once more. He drew a sword from beneath his dark robe. It was black. Black of hilt and black of blade. 

The Elf smiled with a malice that was chilling. “Beautiful is it not?” he said, playing with the sword. “My father taught me the art of its making. And he was considered a master of such weapons. But this is special for another reason.”

Elrohir kept a wary eye on his opponent’s hands. He had not survived all these millennia by dropping his guard even for a moment. 

Maeglin held up the sword, pointing the blade at Elrohir. “The blade is poisoned,” he drawled. “But do not fear just yet; this poison does not kill. That is not its intention. One cut from this and your limbs will go numb. You will find it difficult to move or walk. Indeed, you will find it difficult to resist anything Alieth has planned for you.” The malice in the smile deepened. “That is what you desire, is it not, Alieth?”

“Aye, Lomion,” Alieth’s voice whispered. “If the child will not willingly lie in my arms, then I will be as pleased to have him by force.” The whisper rose to a hiss. “And when I have had my pleasure, you may then send him to the Halls of Mandos.”

“Delighted,” Maeglin said. 

He approached Elrohir with an arrogance born of the confidence that the darkling Elf would not be able to damage him. He dropped into the stance of a warrior as did Elrohir. 

The two Elves circled each other, one filled with the desire to dominate and conquer, the other with the need to defeat and vanquish. With terrible suddenness, Maeglin lunged at Elrohir, black sword flashing with wicked speed. With equal speed and skill, the younger twin parried each stroke, ever conscious of the need to avoid getting so much as a scratch on himself. 

And a thought nagged at him. An impression to be more precise. Something about Maeglin was very wrong. He’d sensed it at the start of the other’s tale. And it had grown as he’d continued to recount it. He suspected what it was but he could not be certain just yet.

oOoOoOo

After knifing the last orc in the yard, Legolas found himself torn between seeking Elrohir and helping Elladan and Gimli. Even as he had battled his share of the goblin troop, he’d been keenly aware of the sounds of sharp cries and clashing metal resounding from the windows of the turret. He worried that his friends were facing more foes than they could handle, that they might fail to destroy the talisman.

A harsh bellow from the tower caught his attention as he recognized Gimli’s voice. It had not been made in pain or fear but in sheer anger. 

He smiled grimly. He decided they were quite capable of taking care of themselves if Gimli’s roar was any indication of his mood. He dashed into the keep.

His first thought was that the interior did not in any way match the exterior of the hold. He’d been expecting some elements of grandeur within. Plush furnishings, marbled floors, heavy tapestries on the walls. But the entrance hall was practically empty and the floor was of the same rough-hewn stone as the walls of the keep itself. Clearly, it had been designed with the intention to impress or awe from afar, nothing more. An odd intention, Legolas mused. 

He reached out with his mind, trying to sense where Elrohir might be. There were three corridors leading away from his location. He guessed one led to the tower wing. Another... the kitchens and storerooms perhaps? He strode to the last one. Almost at once, he felt the tenuous connection surge in the recesses of his mind. He sprinted down the passageway, praying he would find his mate soon.

oOoOoOo

Stroke and counterstroke. It was a nightmare duel and one that was heavily balanced against Elrohir. No matter how many times he got past Maeglin’s defenses, the other's wounds healed instantly. Elrohir knew he could not keep it up indefinitely, superior elven endurance and strength notwithstanding. He was not yet fully recovered. Sooner or later he would tire enough to allow his opponent to slip his blade through.

It did not comfort him that Maeglin did not intend to kill him yet. What Alieth had in store for him while he lay helpless from the poison was, in his opinion, worse than death. For she would strip him of his honor and dignity and violate his very soul. Elrohir knew he could not endure such a fate.

Fatigue soon took its toll of him. It seemed to resurrect the deadly chill he’d experienced after the feeder’s assault. He felt his hand tremble as the cold snaked into his joints, slowing his reflexes for just one split second. It was enough.

He gasped as he felt the black blade slice across his right arm. Almost at once, he felt a curious numbness creep up and spread. Stumbling, he leaned against the wall, trying to keep hold of his sword, trying not to fall as the lack of sensation made its way down to his legs. Finally, he felt his knees give way and he was forced down upon them. His sword slipped from his now senseless fingers and landed with a clang on the floor. 

Maeglin did not wait for him to collapse completely but pulled him up and almost threw him onto the divan. He tossed his black sword down then wrested Elrohir’s bow and quiver away, tossing both aside. He straightened. And changed. Alieth stood in his place. 

“He is ready for you now, my dear,” Maeglin’s voice cooed.

Alieth eyed the Elf-knight. She smiled. 

The sorceress knelt before him, almost straddling him. She reached out a hand and caressed his cheek. “So beautiful,” she murmured. Her hand moved down to his chest, stroked her palm over its broad expanse admiringly. “I do not believe I have had a fairer one than you in all my long years.” She fingered the clasps of his tunic. 

There was a sudden sharp gasp and she paused in her fondling. “Lomion?” 

“Wait, this one is different,” Maeglin said, his voice oddly hushed. “I smell her sweetness in him, feel her glow, her very essence. He is of Idril’s line! My golden Celebrindal, the only one I ever loved.”

“You never loved anyone,” Elrohir snapped. “You only wished to dominate and corrupt and ruin. My foremother saw you for what you were and reviled you.”

Alieth slapped him hard and the voice of Maeglin barked, “You will hold your tongue, _pen neth_ , lest you wish to feel my full wrath.”

“Lomion, Lomion,” soothed Alieth. “You can have your revenge for his hurtful words. Why not take him yourself? ‘Twill be fitting, do you not think, that he so reminds you of her?”

There was a pause. And then Maeglin chuckled lasciviously. The sound sent a shock wave of revulsion through Elrohir. 

“You are right, Alieth.” The sorceress’s face and form shimmered into Maeglin’s countenance and body once more. He leered at an increasingly appalled Elrohir, raking the Elf-knight’s lean, muscular frame with rapacious intent. “Mayhap we should not kill this one after all. Our bed has been cold these many years. He will warm it quite nicely for us. What say you?”

“An excellent idea, my dear lord. The very thought is enough to undo me,” Alieth crooned desirously. “Take him now!”

Horror coursed through Elrohir’s veins. As Maeglin bent down over him, he desperately tried to twist away from him. With a supreme effort, he lashed out with his arm, striking the other Elf’s cheek hard enough to force him back. Maeglin gazed at Elrohir, almost amused by his defiance, and just as impressed. 

“Still fighting, sweet one?” he remarked. “‘Tis so uncooperative of you.” He cupped Elrohir’s face and forced him to look at him. “Such a lovely creature,” he murmured. “I believe you are even more interesting than Idril. Certainly more gamesome.” 

Compelled to stare at his tormentor, Elrohir glimpsed something that caused his suspicions to coalesce in that instant. The ramblingly told tale with its near-theatrical overtones. The overweening manner, almost flamboyant as to be absurd. The slew of egregious decisions not to mention a distinct failure to sort out priorities. He saw the reason for all these flaws in the depths of his enemy’s eyes.

Madness.

*********************************  
Glossary:  
pen neth – young one

_To be continued…_


	13. XII. By the Skin of Their Teeth

Elladan cursed loudly as the door began to give way before the combined heft of the orcs behind it. Elbereth! What was taking Gimli so long?!

In the meantime, the Dwarf was filled with glee when a crack began to form in the transparent dome. Hah! It was not indestructible after all! He struck it again. The crack lengthened and deepened. Just a little more. 

The door burst open. Snarling irately, Elladan did not wait for the orcs to enter the chamber but plunged his sword repeatedly into the massed bodies jammed in the doorway.

oOoOoOo

Legolas skidded to a stop as he espied the shut door. He frowned, wondering if his senses had deceived him. But then he heard cruel laughter from within and apprehensively peered through the barred opening into the chamber. Such a sight as he had never thought to see greeted his horrified eyes.

Elrohir lay helpless upon a low divan, his tunic and shirt rent, his breeches half unlaced. He was strangely immobile yet the spasmodic clenching of his fingers betrayed his continued resistance to the tawdry attentions of the dark figure hunched over him. Maeglin had forced a kiss upon the twin, prying apart his tightly pressed lips to plunder the recesses of his mouth. Drawing back, he sniggered as Elrohir nearly retched in repulsion. 

Legolas hurriedly tried the door but it would not budge. Furiously, he threw his weight against it, exerting all his strength against its unwelcome solidity.

Within, eyes tightly closed in loathing, Elrohir forcibly turned his face away, attempting to evade the greedy mouth that sought to ensnare his lips once more. Chuckling harshly, his tormentor bent low to brutally suckle his exposed throat instead, tainting the pale skin with dark bruises and bite marks.

_Legolas!_

The mental cry of anguish and revulsion issuing from his brave Elf-knight lent Legolas the extra strength he needed. With a mighty heave of his shoulder, he broke down the door and burst into the room. The picture of his binding-mate being subjected to the other’s salacious attentions curdled his blood and blackened his rage. 

With quicksilver speed, he fit two arrows to his bow and let loose. They caught Elrohir’s would-be ravager by the shoulders for Maeglin had leaped to his feet to confront the intruder. The impact of the speeding missiles flung their victim backwards. Moving swiftly, Legolas scooped up Elrohir’s fallen sword and hurled it straight at the still stunned Elf. The lethal projectile struck Maeglin squarely in the belly and passed through his body to embed itself with a thunk in the wall behind him.

Not bothering to check his handiwork, Legolas hurried to Elrohir and slipped an arm under his shoulders and back. He lifted him gingerly, pushing the dark hair from his face.

“Elrohir, are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “Are you hurt?” 

Elrohir shuddered, turned his face into the prince’s shoulder. “Poison on his sword,” he breathed harshly. Legolas glanced at the black-bladed weapon on the floor nearby. “It paralyzes the body. I cannot move my limbs.”

“I will carry you out then,” Legolas decided. “I will take you away from here.” 

“You will take him nowhere, Elf!”

Legolas whipped his head around and stared in shock at the impaled figure. Maeglin was glaring at him with the iciest orbs he had ever seen. His mouth was curled into a murderous scowl.

“You will pay for this sacrilege, pup,” the Elf snarled. He began to impossibly, improbably, pull at the sword that pierced his body.

Instinctively, Legolas grabbed at the sword on the floor. He felt the Elf-warrior’s hand on his. In his extreme need, Elrohir had willed his arm into cooperating with him.

“Beware of its edge, Legolas,” he cautioned. “One cut will render you helpless yet will have no effect on him. Not until the talisman is destroyed.”

Maeglin yanked the offending sword out of his belly and hefted it. He then leisurely plucked the arrows from his shoulders and cast them aside with flamboyant condescension.

“You dared to interrupt my pleasure,” he growled, looking down at the prince with menacing regard, scornfully recognizing his Silvan raiment.

“You dared to defile my mate!” Legolas spat.

The dark eyes widened in surprise. Maeglin stared incredulously at Elrohir. “You bound yourself to a mere Wood-elf?” he demanded. “What possessed a high-born Elda like you to demean yourself in such a manner?” He regarded Legolas with jaundiced eyes. “He is a beauty, I have to admit. I suppose you were swayed by that among other things. But be that the reason, you need not have tied yourself to him. You could have bedded him yet left yourself free to seek a more suitable spouse.”

Elrohir saw how Legolas’s face whitened at the other Elf’s contemptuous insinuation. In an instant, he knew the woodland prince, already flayed by guilt, was ready to believe the cruel assessment of his worth.

“Who are you to speak with disdain of one of the noblest princes of the Sindar?” he flared. “Or have you forgotten from whose loins you are sprung, son of Eöl?”

Maeglin bristled at the challenge. “I am the son of Aredhel of the House of Fingolfin,” he growled. “Nephew to Turgon, King of Gondolin. My father’s base blood has been more than washed away by my mother’s great Noldorin lineage.” He looked at Legolas sneeringly. “What have you to offer your noble spouse, Sinda?”

Before the prince could respond, Elrohir replied in a more quiet voice but imbued his answer with conviction so stirring it soothed the hurt in Legolas’s heart. “More than you can ever imagine or understand, traitor. You are not even an inch of the _Edhel_ that he is.”

Maeglin glowered at him angrily. “Such loyalty,” he snipped. “I will have to think of a suitable punishment for your insolence.” He looked from one prince to the other and seemed to ponder something. The thoughtful gleam in his eyes filled the lovers with renewed apprehension. Legolas clasped Elrohir closer to him, ready to protect the helpless Elf-lord from whatever mischief their foe might choose to wreak upon them.

A cruel smile split the pallid face. Maeglin suddenly chuckled, the sound drenched in pure malice. “What say you, Alieth?” he purred evilly.

A delighted cackle rent the gloom. Legolas gasped in shock, uncertain what devilry lay behind the unseen owner of the unpleasant mirth. Elrohir flinched in his arms and grasped his hand even more tightly.

“Yes, my Lomion,” the feminine voice cooed. “Such an excellent idea. Fitting punishment for their demeanor toward you.”

For several seconds a stunning but malevolent face shimmered into being in place of Maeglin’s pale features. Then it was gone and the younger Elves looked upon the hated countenance once more.

Maeglin circled them mockingly, unmindful of the passing time, uncaring of any sudden attack from Legolas. He knew the fair-haired Elf was well aware of the fruitlessness of such an attempt.

“A pity,” he drawled, jeeringly contemplating the archer, his voice now blending eerily with Alieth’s. “You are just as comely as your chosen one. But we have no liking for assassins who would dare deprive us of our prized possession. Idril’s heir will be ours despite your best efforts, Sinda. But as for you...” He smiled humorlessly. “You will have the dubious privilege of dying by your own beloved’s sword. Yet it will not be a swift and merciful death, that we promise you!”

He leered at Elrohir whose face had blanched several shades whiter while Legolas narrowed his eyes with barely contained ire. He added tauntingly: “The last memory you will bear with you to Mandos’s Halls will be the sight of your precious Elrohir as we take our pleasure of him. Mayhap we shall even keep him to warm our bed until Middle-earth falls to us. _If_ he survives that long.”

His blood seething with the fury of a thousand Wargs, Legolas began to rise to his feet, eager to shed his enemy’s blood, nay, rip out his heart or whatever passed for a heart in this demented creature’s breast. A hand stayed him. He looked into Elrohir’s defiant eyes. 

“Give me your knife, Legolas,” he whispered. “I will not let that abomination profane my body or spirit.”

Legolas nodded and slipped his white-hilted _sigil_ into Elrohir’s hand. If he failed to best Maeglin, he knew what the Elf-knight would do. He would sooner take his life and follow Legolas to the timeless halls rather than endure prolonged savaging at the demonic Elf’s mauling hands.

The two combatants faced off, circling slowly, Legolas with understandable caution, Maeglin with chilling confidence.

Elrohir forced his gaze from his mate, concentrated on forming a link with his twin. As soon as he felt Elladan’s presence in his mind, he poured all his energy into sending his thoughts to him.

_Elladan, you must destroy the talisman now!_

The answer came swiftly. 

_Hold on, gwanneth! Almost there!_

oOoOoOo

Elladan all but broke the neck of the last orc. He shouted up to Gimli: “Hurry! They are in peril!”

Gimli roared wrathfully at the thought of his friends endangered. With one last heave of his axe, he shattered the dome encircling the talisman. Elated, he brought the blade down hard on the pulsating talisman. The _mithril_ webbing snapped, exposing the crystal. Another blow and a hairline crack appeared on the stone’s darkly iridescent surface. Gimli slammed his axe down one more time. 

The crystal crumbled under the impact then came apart. The Dwarf leaped back as the blackness within seeped out like a dark mist, eerie tendrils creeping out like the tentacles of some foul creature of the deeps. And then, to his relief, it faded into nothingness.

“Elladan!” Gimli bellowed to the older twin. “‘Tis done!”

oOoOoOo

Elrohir harkened to his brother’s mental message. _The talisman is no more, muindor! Do what you must!_

He turned his eyes to his battling mate. “ _Dago den_ , Legolas!” he cried imperatively. Kill him!

The archer deftly parried a jab to his chest then slipped under Maeglin’s outstretched arm. In one fluid movement, he swung the black sword upward, slicing through the other Elf’s lower body, gutting him like a stag being readied for the spit. 

Maeglin howled in agony as pain struck his nether regions. He stared down at the gaping wound whence blood dripped and his entrails peeped out. The poison began to make its presence known in his limbs. He staggered backwards, Elrohir’s sword falling with a clang to the floor, his hands spasmodically clasping the terrible wound.

“How—?” he gasped, eyes wide with fear and incredulity. “My talisman...”

“Destroyed,” Elrohir coldly replied.

Maeglin sank to his now paralyzed knees, clutching at his belly as if to keep his innards from spilling out. But the toxin seeped rapidly into his arms. His hands, now bereft of sensation as well, fell uselessly to his sides and his entrails began to slip out of the open cavity in his abdomen.

The prince stepped closer to the dying Elf, his eyes gleaming with glacial satisfaction.

“You will have the privilege of dying by your own sword, thrall of Morgoth,” he informed his victim with all the hauteur of a son of Thranduil. “For though you would have shown me no mercy, I am not of your ilk. Extend our greetings to your former master and take your sordid witch with you.”

With one quick sweep of the sword, he neatly decapitated the would-be despot. Maeglin gave one abbreviated cry as the blade struck and then all was silence.

Legolas sagged wearily against the wall. Though he was reasonably sure the enemy was dead, he did not take his eyes off the headless corpse on the floor for a while. Maeglin had all but come back from the dead. He could not quite trust that he would not do so again. 

He finally turned to find Elrohir struggling to his feet. The poison was apparently starting to wear off. He was at the warrior’s side in an instant, lending him his arms for support. As the latter fumbled for the loose lacings on his breeches, his fingers still somewhat lacking in sensation, Legolas quickly took over. When he went on to check him for any hidden injuries, Elrohir glanced up at him curiously, his face still white from the terror and exertion of the past few hours. He felt the archer’s hand brush his dark hair from his shoulder.

Legolas sucked his breath in sharply when he saw the bruises and bite marks on the side of Elrohir’s neck, reminders of the enemy’s assault on him. He felt his heart clench with remembered horror. The very thought of his proud Elf-knight ravaged, dishonored, reduced to a mere bed-treat, clutched insidiously at the edges of his mind.

With a groan, he drew Elrohir into a near-crushing embrace and pressed his lips against the dark stains, as if to kiss away the desecrations on the twin’s white skin. Elrohir could not help a sharp gasp at the heated caresses Legolas bestowed on his flesh. At the sound, the archer lifted his head and captured his mouth in a feverish kiss, one hand gripping a fistful of sable silk. Unable to resist, Elrohir gave in to the ferocity of the archer’s willful advances.

His lips were quite swollen from the prince’s ardor by the time he was finally released. He looked into Legolas’s still troubled eyes, wondering if he would ever learn to deny the archer his love, admitting even as he thought it that it would never happen while he had life and breath in his body.

“I nearly lost you,” Legolas murmured, his voice catching slightly.

“And I, you,” Elrohir responded, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. Though feeling was returning to his limbs by the minute, he was still unsteady on his feet and had to lean against the prince for support.

“Would it have mattered to you?” Legolas queried in a low voice.

Elrohir raised his head in surprise and peered at the prince with a slight frown. “I was ready to turn your knife upon myself had he bested you,” he said quietly. “I would have followed you to the Halls of Awaiting, Calenlass.” 

Legolas swallowed hard, his eyes tearing. “You have not called me thus for many a day,” he whispered.

Elrohir hesitated then sighed. “I was resentful of you,” he admitted.

“And now?” 

The younger twin’s answer was a tight hug. It did not completely allay the archer’s anxieties but it calmed him down considerably. And for the moment, it was enough. 

************************************  
Glossary:  
sigil – knife or dagger  
muindor – brother  
Calenlass – Greenleaf 

_To be continued…_


	14. XIII. Not Yet Over

Legolas insisted that Elrohir sit and rest for a spell. His mate looked worn and oh so weary in spirit. That was not to be wondered at considering what he had been subjected to. The archer only hoped there were no more hidden perils to plague them anew. 

They were startled when, several minutes later, Elladan and Gimli burst into the chamber. Elrohir visibly relaxed when he saw it was his twin and Dwarf friend who had come. 

“You certainly took your time,” he gibed his brother tiredly, taking note of Elladan’s grimed and gory appearance.

The older twin snorted. “Try being quicker while holding off a pack of orcs,” he retorted. And then he fell on his knees before Elrohir and hugged him snugly. “Thank Eru you are safe,” he whispered.

“Gimli! You are hurt!” Legolas exclaimed. He bent to examine his friend’s battered shoulder.

“Ah! Just a scratch,” Gimli said dismissively. He frowned when he saw the dark-robed body and the severed head on the floor. “Is that—?”

At Legolas’s grim nod, he walked over and with his toe, gingerly turned the head over. He looked at the others in confusion.

“I thought Maeglin was an _ellon_ ”—male Elf—he said.

“He is— was,” Legolas agreed. “Why—?”

He stopped and stared at the dead face. It was the female countenance he’d briefly glimpsed earlier that he now looked upon, framed by dark red hair already stiff with congealed blood. He glanced at the body and was disconcerted to find a curvaceous form beneath the robes.

“It cannot be!” he blurted out.

“It can,” Elrohir said. “His _fëa_ is gone. He no longer shares her body.”

“He shared her body?” Elladan questioned incredulously.

The Elf-knight sighed. “‘Tis a long story and an odious one. I will tell you later. For now there are things still to be done.”

Elladan nodded. “Aye, we must destroy this hold. We cannot allow it to become a haven for unsavory creatures.”

Elrohir frowned. “Speaking of unsavory creatures, Maeglin claimed he had an army of orcs encamped just below this fortress.”

“He did,” Gimli replied. “We could see the scum from the tower. Though I hesitate to call it an army. More like a rabble of brainless beasts if you ask me.”

Elladan wryly smiled. “They fled soon after Gimli destroyed the crystal. I wager ‘twas what Maeglin used to control them.”

“But their armor and weapons?” Legolas queried. “I dislike the idea of orcs so well shielded and armed running amuck.”

Elladan shook his head. “From what I could see, they were not armed as the orcs within the fortress were. I suspect Maeglin had not made enough galvorn to outfit all his minions.”

Elrohir looked at the corpse somberly. “That begs a question, _gwaniuar_ ,” he murmured. “Do we keep or destroy what he did make?”

Legolas grimaced with distaste. “I do not care to touch what he forged,” he declared. “They are cursed by his evil and would only bring ruin to whoever dares to wield them.”

“I agree,” Gimli said. “I say we destroy everything.”

Elrohir only nodded.

oOoOoOo

They let fire consume and cleanse the place. When the flames hungrily ate every combustible material within their searing grasp, including supporting frames and buttresses, the keep’s very structure weakened. As the Elves and Dwarf watched from outside the main gate, the roof of the main wing gave in, followed by the turret. At last, they made their way down the hill, the roar and rumble of fire and crumbling masonry resounding in their ears.

The Elves called to their steeds and within minutes the beasts obeyed their summons and approached them. Mounting, they took one last look at the stronghold then rode away. 

They travelled without stopping to get as far as they could from the burning fortress. They could not put enough distance between them and the stench of the hold’s lingering evil. Finally, when all they could see were black clouds of smoke, they felt comfortable enough to take a much-needed rest.

They led their mounts to a running stream and let the animals drink their fill while they washed the grime and gore from their hands and faces, ignoring the bite of the icy water. Here, as they sat for a while by the water, Elrohir finally told them all he knew of their vanquished foe. His listeners were, by turns, shocked, horrified and enraged by his account. Finally, they rose to their feet and made ready to go. Elrohir looked back at the smoke billowing over the horizon. 

“We were fortunate,” he said in a low voice.

“Fortunate?” Gimli nearly choked.

“Aye. For all his bombast, Maeglin was no Sauron. Not in wisdom or strength or cunning. And he was not completely sane though he hid it well at first.”

Legolas looked at him curiously. “How do you know this?”

The Elf-knight glanced back at him with haunted eyes. “I knew his tale for truth but he raved like one demented as he related it. He sounded at times like a child who believes he will get something simply because he desires it. At others, he spoke as though he was performing before an audience. And to claim himself the equal of the Dark Lord and that he would best him in a year’s time...” He shook his head. “I soon suspected that he was tainted with a touch of lunacy. When he sought to-to violate me, I saw his eyes and that confirmed my suspicions. I knew then that his mind was no longer whole.”

Elladan reached out and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “I suppose his mind could not remain whole in light of what he had lived through,” he remarked. “And if you think about it, Maeglin may have been ancient in the sheer number of years of his existence but in terms of learning and experience, he was really younger than us. He was not even two hundred years old when our forefather defeated him.”

“I had forgotten about that,” Elrohir admitted. “That and his lunacy would certainly account for so many of his lapses. His theatrical manner. His haphazard planning. His lack of adequate preparation. His idiotic priorities.” He let out a humorless gust of laughter. “He ignored what was happening outside his keep in favor of taking his pleasure of me! What greater madness can there be than that?” 

Elladan wryly grinned. “Well, you _are_ a potent distraction, _gwanneth_.” 

Elrohir rolled his eyes and threw a light punch at his brother’s arm. 

“But you have to admit he did one thing right,” Gimli said. “He chose the best location for his confounded fortress. That place is so isolated, no one marked its presence at all.”

“True,” Legolas murmured. “Had Elrohir not broached the idea of searching these mountains, none would have known of his existence.” He stared at the column of smoke that continued to mar the horizon. “Methinks my people will have to give thought to exploring the Ered Mithrin once in a while. I do not care for another Maeglin hiding in its depths or heights.”

“Nor I,” Elrohir agreed. “His mind may have been unsound, but had he succeeded in unleashing his creatures... I shudder to imagine the results of such an invasion.” 

“We would have beaten him,” Gimli asserted confidently. 

“But at what cost?” Elrohir said. “I am relieved we stopped it before it began.”

“What of the sorceress?” Legolas asked curiously. “Was she mad as well?”

“Mayhap not,” Elrohir said. “But after sharing the same body for so long with Maeglin, I think she had ceased to think for herself. I imagine she allowed him to plan for both of them. All she cared for were the results of their scheming. After all, she had been a mere servant of Sauron. She could and did dabble in the dark arts and efficiently at that. But she was a follower, not a leader.”

“At least, she rid the mountains of the cold-drakes,” Elladan remarked. He glanced at Gimli. “Your folk may return to these parts now. After all, what are mere orcs to you?”

Gimli snickered. “I will suggest it to Thorin,” he grinned. “Mayhap with Dwarves frequenting these mountains again, there will be no need to worry about more resurrected Elves showing up!” He started as something cold dropped upon his nose. He looked about and saw the slow white dappling of their surroundings. “Am I imagining things or is it starting to snow?” he demanded.

The others looked about as well and shook their heads. “You are not imagining things,” Legolas told him. He glanced at Elrohir. “This winter’s oddities? Was that their doing as well?”

“Alieth’s most likely,” the Elf-knight replied. “She possessed a talent for manipulating weather. Witness how she slew the cold-drakes.”

“Well, whatever she did, it’s being undone now,” Gimli grumbled. “Let us find shelter at once. I am in no hurry to suffer from frostbite after managing to survive orcs, a spider and the schemes of a raving lunatic!” 

But the snowfall proved gradual and sporadic. And for the time being, it was confined to the upper reaches of the mountains. Traveling a little further down they soon left the snowline behind. They finally set up camp in a sheltered thicket halfway down the slope. 

While the others built a fire and broke out food and drink, Legolas busied himself with currying his horse. Elrohir approached him. The prince was as visibly fatigued as his steed and the warrior looked at him with some concern.

“You can do that later, Calenlass,” he murmured. “You are weary.”

Legolas shook his head. “Nay, I am not that tired.”

“Legolas, you are trembling from exhaustion,” Elrohir pointed out. “Even Gimli can see that. Please, come and take some rest.”

“I am no Elfling!” the archer flared without warning. “I will not be treated like a mewling infant!”

Elrohir stared at him in shock and fast-dawning disappointment. His lips tightening, he spun on his heel and would have stridden away but for the sudden grip on his arm. He glanced back angrily to meet Legolas’s remorseful gaze.

“I am sorry,” the prince said contritely. “I did not mean to snap at you.”

Elrohir let out a frustrated sigh. “After all we have been through, I thought—” He halted when he saw Legolas flinch. He looked away for a moment, striving to keep his own temper in check. After a space he looked at the archer again. “We have to talk, Legolas,” he grimly said. “I cannot—” He drew a deep breath. “I am at the end of my forbearance.” 

He saw the fear that flickered across the prince’s countenance. The grip on his hand tightened as Legolas unconsciously pulled him closer. 

“You are not...” Legolas swallowed hard. “You are not thinking of... of leaving me,” he whispered shakily. “Are you?” 

Elrohir half-glared at him. “We are bound,” he tersely replied. “Like it or not, we are stuck with each other for eternity.” His choice of words elicited a pained gasp from the golden-haired Elf and he instantly repented of them. But he could not unsay either the truth or his frustration. “I do not regret our binding,” he said more calmly. “But there are matters we must resolve before things get any worse than they are already. We will discuss this when we get back to Greenwood.”

Legolas almost timidly nodded. Elrohir turned away and walked back to the others. He sat beneath the eaves of a sturdy tree and stared into the flames of the campfire, unmindful of his brother and Gimli’s surreptitious glances at him.

After a few tense moments, Legolas came to him and knelt by his side. He stared at the archer, eyes still stern. 

Legolas gazed at him uncertainly. “You are right, I do need to rest,” he conceded meekly. “May I stay with you?” he added hesitantly.

The Elf-knight’s gaze did not waver or soften as he thoughtfully regarded his errant mate. Feeling as if his heart would burst, Legolas bit his lower lip and made to rise, his fair face now ashen. But he was stayed by a firm grip on his arm. He looked at Elrohir apprehensively.

Wordlessly, Elrohir leaned back against the tree and motioned to Legolas to lie down and lay his head on his lap. Drawing in a relieved breath, the archer gratefully accepted the silent invitation. Flushing at Elladan and Gimli’s questioning stares, he resolutely turned towards Elrohir, one arm curling tightly around the Elf-lord’s waist. He pressed his hot face into his mate’s taut stomach. A moment later, he felt a soothing hand upon his back, while the other stroked his hair gently. Though anxiety still nipped at the edges of his consciousness, the comforting touch of his spouse proved the stronger and he soon drifted off into sleep. 

**********************  
Glossary:  
fëa – Quenya for spirit  
gwaniuar – older twin 

_To be continued…_


	15. XIV. Receptions

They reached the foothills of the mountains in time to meet the force of Elven warriors Thranduil had mustered to go after them. The Elvenking himself led the contingent. So relieved was he to find them alive and fairly well that he enveloped each in a hearty, heartfelt hug, even an entertainingly flustered Gimli. The most caustic of scoldings followed, however, when he learned a bit of what they had done. 

“I feel as if I’ve aged another five centuries!” he exclaimed after the telling. “What were you thinking, taking on the enemy by yourselves?”

Legolas flushed a deep red. Feeling like an adolescent again caught in mischief, he said, “Forgive us, _Ada_. But we feared the worst and sought to prevent it from happening.”

Thranduil all but rolled his eyes in exasperation. “And I thought you had more sense than to try something as foolhardy as that!” 

Legolas and even Gimli looked properly abashed but, amazingly, the twins did not. 

“As Legolas said, forgive us, _Adar_ , for troubling you so,” Elladan said. “But in truth, we did what we deemed best.”

Elrohir added, “When we laid eyes on Maeglin’s hold, we still had the choice to retreat or attack. When we assessed his strength, we knew we could best him.”

Thranduil stared at his law-sons in patent disbelief. “You thought you could take on an entire garrison of orcs?” he gasped.

Both shrugged. “‘Tis hardly more difficult than taking on a whole tribe of battle-trained goblins,” Elladan said.

Legolas started then gazed at Elrohir, frowning slightly. “I accused you of that very charge yet you denied it,” he remarked a little sourly. 

Elrohir shook his head. “I did not deny it,” he pointed out. “I said we never took on more than we knew we could handle.”

What Legolas thought of such guileful dissimulation he chose not to voice though his eyes glittered perilously. Thranduil, on the other, after being struck dumb, found his tongue. “You think highly of your abilities, _gwenyn_ ”—twins—he commented. 

Elrohir smiled grimly. “We spent five hundred years in the wilds doing just this, _Adar_ ”—Father—he softly said. 

At that, Gimli growled. “Oh, my sainted aunt! I should have known you two would indulge in some hare-brained schemes along the way!”

“I do not recall you protesting overmuch, Master Dwarf,” Elladan reminded him. “Does that mean you are as inclined to hare-brained schemes as we are?”

He grinned as the Dwarf let loose a string of jaw-cracking curses. Thank Eru only he and Elrohir truly understood Dwarvish else he could only imagine the complexions Thranduil and Legolas would have taken on. 

The Elvenking let out a resigned sigh. “Valinor is beginning to look more and more attractive to me,” he declared at length. “Ah, tell me what you will as we go. I confess I am anxious to hear the full tale.”

By the time the Elven force reached the delved palace, Thranduil was no longer so anxious as astounded, fascinated and downright infuriated, the last not so much with their now fallen foe but with the four who had brought about his fall. If they had thought his earlier admonitions stinging enough, they soon learned the true meaning of a royal dressing-down. Legolas and Gimli were seen to wince at some particular choice bits and even the twins were hard-pressed to maintain their dignified miens in the face of such severity. Therefore it was with great relief that they came to the palace for the king calmed down at last and ceased to bombard their eardrums with scathing reprimands.

Elladan’s first order of business was to seek his wife. But even as they started for the residential pavilion, they were met by an Elf-woman newly come from the healing halls.

“Majesty!” she hailed Thranduil. “I was sent to inform you. Your daughter is in labor and—” Elladan was off like a shot ere she finished her sentence. “—they wish to know if Lord Elladan desires to be with her.”

Elrohir shook his head. “He will fall apart,” he said. “‘Tis one thing to deliver the babes of others; another to welcome his own into the world.” 

He hurried after Elladan. That left Gimli and Legolas staring after him. Thranduil let out a loud sigh. “I only pray this child will not take after its father overmuch!” he wryly said.

They followed the twins to the healing halls. 

Elrohir’s assessment of his brother’s state of mind proved mirthfully accurate. He drove everyone to distraction with his anxious blundering and ill-founded concerns. Indeed, it seemed he’d forgotten everything he’d ever learned about the birthing of Elflings. Nimeithel was more collected than he was even while caught in the strains of labor. Though she lovingly welcomed him back with the most tender of kisses, she soon begged Elrohir to take her husband in hand. Taking pity on the beleaguered healers and midwives, the Elf-knight grabbed his twin and hauled him bodily out of the birthing chamber.

There, while an amused Elvenking, woodland prince and Dwarf-lord looked on, he exhorted Elladan to get a hold of himself.

“You must becalm yourself, _gwaniuar_ , if you wish to be by her side,” he advised his quaking brother. “By Elbereth, you are a hallowed warrior, accustomed to blood and pain. Do not shame yourself now, brother!” 

Elladan caught himself at that. Taking a moment to recover his equanimity, he nodded at Elrohir then re-entered the chamber with his brother. When Elrohir returned without him, the others assumed he had stopped being a nuisance to his wife and the healers.

“You have a gift for understatement, _gwanneth_ ,” Thranduil remarked facetiously. “He did not merely fall apart; he nigh crumbled to pieces.”

Elrohir chuckled. “It is ever thus with the fathers we have seen through the years. The more valorous they are in battle, the more certain it is that they will all but collapse should they witness their wives in labor!”

“Then you should be grateful that you won’t have that problem!” Gimli snickered.

“Aye, that is one benefit of binding to another _ellon_ ,” Elrohir said with a smile. He glanced at Legolas who in turn was looking at him rather wistfully. 

He wondered at his mercurial mate’s odd mood and was about to question him about it when Elladan poked his head out of the birthing chamber and said with a mysterious grin: “Elrohir, would you please join me for a moment?”

Looking at his twin curiously, the Elf-knight did as he was bid. A few minutes later, a piercing wail rent the stillness of the halls, startling the three who waited outside. It went on for while, doubling in volume along the way.

“That is one lusty babe,” Gimli remarked admiringly. “What lungs he must have!”

“It may be a maid-child,” Legolas said.

“With a voice like that?” the Dwarf snorted. “I pity the Elf-maid who possesses such a bawl!”

Finally the wailing ended and they waited again, this time a little impatiently. They glanced up when Elrohir came out. Bearing a tiny bundle in his arms. They all surged forward excitedly. 

The twin gently pushed back the swaddling and they looked upon the first child born of the union between Imladris and Greenwood. 

“A son?” Legolas queried, noting the small but strong hands that clutched hardily at the enclosing mantle. 

“Aye,” Elrohir replied softly. “As is the other.”

The three stared at him in mute stupefaction.

“The other?” Thranduil repeated faintly.

The three caught their breaths as another loud wail assailed their ears. They looked at Elrohir in stunned disbelief. None could speak from the shock.

“Twins?” Legolas finally all but croaked when the cries ceased.

“Twins,” Elladan confirmed as he came out of the chamber cradling another wee bundle in his arms.

There was a concerted gasp. “Twins born of a twin?” Gimli spluttered.

“Who himself was born of a twin,” Thranduil finished for him, awe limning his voice. “Will wonders never cease?” He looked at Elladan. His older law-son was incandescent with joy. The usually wintry eyes warmed with affection. “Elrond would have been so proud,” the king told him. “You will bring him and your mother an immeasurable gift when you pass West, _gwaniuar_.”

Elladan’s answering smile was more than beautiful. It was heart stopping. He was the picture of fatherly pride, tenderness and protectiveness. He looked upon his sons with unabashed love, blessing the crown of the babe in his brother’s arms with a kiss before pressing his lips to the cheek of the infant he held.

“Have you named them?” Thranduil inquired, gazing besottedly at his newest grandchildren.

Elladan nodded. “That one is Elendir,” he said with a wide smile for his firstborn. “And this one,” he continued, handing the younger into his delighted law-father’s arms, “is Elros.” 

“Elros!” Legolas softly exclaimed. “That will most definitely please your father.”

The twins grinned even more happily. Looking at them and at the infants, one who was not well acquainted with either would have been hard-put to decide which of them was the father. Elrohir looked as doting as Elladan, Legolas thought musingly. Well, if his past record with his king-brother and royal nephew of Gondor was any indication, he did not doubt that these newborns would one day come to adore their Uncle Elf-knight as well.

It was while he was gazing at tiny Elendir that a wave of envy came over him. He chided himself, thinking how absurd it was that he should be envious of a babe just because it was presently being cuddled by Elrohir. But then, there had been woefully little tenderness between himself and the younger twin for quite some time now. 

His sudden pensiveness was not missed by his mate. Or his father. 

Elrohir regarded him a moment with searching eyes before hearkening to his brother’s request that they bring the infants back to Nimeithel. Legolas stared at his spouse as he returned to the birthing chamber with Elladan and the babies.

Gimli heaved a happy sigh. “Ah, that was a splendid welcome indeed!” he grinned. He glanced at Legolas. “But now, if you don’t mind, I would very much like to take a long hot bath and then get a decent meal.”

“By all means, Gimli,” the prince smiled wanly. “Take your ease. I will see you later at dinner.” 

He watched his friend saunter away. Turning back, he found his father looking at him keenly. 

“ _Ada_?”—Papa—he said wonderingly. 

“Legolas, come with me,” Thranduil said. “I would have a word with you.”

He led the way to his study. Firmly shutting the door behind them the Elvenking turned to study his youngest son. Legolas seemed suddenly ill at ease; he had walked to one of the windows and was absently picking at the curtain framing it. Thranduil frowned with concern. 

“ _Iôn?_ Do you regret your binding to Elrohir?” he queried.

Legolas turned his head sharply and stared at him. “Of course not! What made you think that, _Ada_?”

Thranduil shrugged. “I only wondered. In truth, I had wanted to talk with you ere you left for the mountains.”

“About what?” It was said casually enough but Thranduil noted that his son could not quite meet his gaze.

“There is a... rift between the two of you that I have never felt in all your millennia of friendship,” he replied. “I thought that perhaps you had come to rue committing yourself to so permanent a relationship.”

“Nay, I do not regret it in the least,” Legolas said. He hesitated then said in a low, despondent voice, “Though mayhap Elrohir does despite his claims to the contrary.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. So, his son had finally realized the depth of his previous folly. “And why do you say that?” 

Legolas bit his lower lip then sighed unhappily. “I made mistakes,” he whispered. “More mistakes than he can endure.”

“Irreparable ones?” Thranduil pressed, wondering at the extent of the damage done to their bond.

The prince swallowed painfully. “I... I pray not.” He turned away, his hands reaching out to grasp fistfuls of drapery. Thranduil worriedly noted the whitened knuckles on his clenched hands. Legolas let go of the curtains and turned back to his father. “I am so afraid, _Ada_. He-he might— leave me because of this.”

The king shook his head. “He waited centuries to make you his. I cannot imagine that he would forsake you now that he owns your hard-won love.”

“But what if he no longer thinks it worth his forbearance?” Legolas said, his voice harsh with anguish. “What then? If he leaves me, I will not— Ah, even the thought terrifies me!”

Thranduil swiftly crossed the chamber to take his shaking son into his arms. “He will not leave you, Legolas! ‘Twas for love of you that he chose eternity over the Gift of Men. You were ever his reason for holding to life, to living.”

“But I have proved myself unworthy of his regard,” Legolas near moaned. “I-I fear I have sullied myself in his eyes beyond redemption.” He clutched at his father anxiously. “The worst of it is that I do not know why I did any of it. All I know is that I have hurt him grievously. He— he said it himself. He can no longer tolerate my transgressions against him.” 

Thranduil stroked his son’s fair hair soothingly. “Have you ever talked about this matter before?” he gently inquired.

Legolas shook his head. “He tried,” he admitted. “But I would always show my displeasure that he-he...”

“Gave up trying to broach it,” the king finished for him.

“Aye,” the prince said shamefacedly.

Thranduil sighed. “You should have let Elrohir have his say early on. It might have saved both of you much grief.” He drew away and looked at his crestfallen son. “But if I have read him right, your Elf-knight will not give you up without a fight, _iôn_. ‘Tis not his nature to surrender so quickly or easily.”

Legolas raised apprehensive eyes to his sire. “He told me we needed to talk,” he confided.

“Indeed, you do,” Thranduil agreed. “Go to him, Legolas. And this time, do not hide your doubts or fears. If you truly love him, if you treasure your bond, you will do this without further delay.”

Legolas drew a tremulous breath then nodded. Silently, he slipped out of his father’s embrace and left the study. Thranduil watched him go, worry etched in his countenance. A silent entreaty winged its way to the Powers as the Elvenking prayed for his youngest son’s victory in this, a battle no less daunting than any he had ever faced before.

********************************  
Glossary:  
gwaniuar – older twin  
iôn – son

_To be continued…_


	16. XV. The Elven Way

His thoughts all a-jumble as he awaited Elrohir, Legolas stared unseeingly at the text of the open book upon his lap. 

After his talk with his sire, he had thought a visit with Nimeithel and her infants would soothe his frazzled spirit. But one glimpse of Elrohir gently laying little Elros in his cradle beside his brother, the most tender of smiles gracing his sinuous lips, accomplished the opposite. Not only did it remind him all over again of what was lacking in their relationship but also reawakened his long-unquenched desire for his mate. He retreated from so enticing a sight lest it best him there and then and led him to do something rash. Not to mention highly inappropriate within the healing halls. 

He had then wandered aimlessly about the palace grounds, trying to sort out his feelings and calm his nerves. But he had not quite succeeded by the time he met up with Gimli in the dining hall. It did not help any when Elrohir failed to join him but sent word instead that the healers had already released Nimeithel and her sons from their care and that he was helping Elladan settle his family in their apartment. He found that the longer he had to wait to be with Elrohir, the more nervous he became. 

After dinner, he returned to their chamber and took a good long soak, letting the warm water ease his travel-worn body and worry-muddled mind. Drawing on a thin bed-shirt and trousers, he sat on the bed and tried to distract himself with a good book. 

But the book remained unread upon his lap as his mind refused to comprehend its contents. It was preoccupied with other, less calming ideas. 

He started visibly when the object of his thoughts suddenly entered their apartment. Elrohir smiled tiredly at him before quietly taking out fresh clothing and entering the bathing chamber. Legolas almost forgot to breath as he listened to the sounds that emanated from within the adjoining room. His imagination provided overly vivid images of his mate bathing and that only served to fire up his body. That distressed him. He did not need his fevered stirrings to further roil his already befuddled thoughts.

When at last Elrohir emerged from the bathing chamber, he did not know whether to be pleased or perturbed. 

Elrohir’s damp raven hair hung between his shoulder blades like black silk. And his raiment clung to his still bath-moist body, calling attention to its splendid proportions. He had donned thin night-trousers and a matching bed-robe. But the robe was partly open, as Elrohir had not bothered to tie the belt snugly around his waist. And so the lights from candle and hearth played teasingly upon the sculpted plains of his exposed torso and the shallow valley that defined his broad chest. 

Legolas swallowed hard as smoldering images flooded his mind. He strove to set them aside when Elrohir did not come to their bed but walked to the hearth instead and silently regarded the flames for a while. It was quite obvious that bed-play was nowhere on the Elf-knight’s mind whatever the state of his mate’s. Another tempering point was that Elrohir seldom wore more than sleeping trousers to bed; for him to throw on a robe was another indication of his deferment of all things carnal at present.

The prince set aside the book and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “How is Elladan holding up?” he asked.

Elrohir turned to look at him. “Well enough under the circumstances,” he grinned with true humor. 

Legolas was heartened by his reaction. “What is it about the Peredhil and twins?” he remarked. “Is your line bewitched that there must be a set in every generation?”

Elrohir chuckled at the notion. Legolas felt hope flare up in his heart. Elrohir’s laugh had sounded genuinely merry. It had not been so far longer than the archer cared to remember. Despite his acknowledgement that his father was correct and that they should resolve the matter between them soonest, he could not help wishing to delay the inevitable confrontation. But just as he thought himself spared this night, the twin’s smile faded and he glanced at the archer somberly.

“I never meant to confine you,” he said quietly.

Legolas started at the sudden change in topic. “I know you did not,” he replied softly. “You only wished to protect me.”

Elrohir nodded. “I cannot help it,” he said. “From the moment I loved you it has been there, this need to protect and nurture. And it has strengthened since I bound myself to you.”

“I realize that now,” Legolas responded. “But I am a warrior, Elrohir, born and bred to fight. I can take care of myself.”

Elrohir gazed at him, his thoughts hidden, much to the archer’s frustration and concern. 

“I know you can,” the twin finally answered. “Else I would not have been able to watch you go when you left on the Quest.” He frowned. “‘Tis not your abilities I wonder about, Legolas. ‘Tis your continued independence of me that I question.”

The prince stared at him. “But I rely on you. More than I ever thought possible.”

Elrohir shook his head. “You are still separate from me,” he explained pensively. “Even when you bound yourself to me, you did not—” He sighed. “You did not surrender yourself to me as I did to you.”

Legolas fell silent. “I am yours, Elrohir,” he said at length. “Surely you do not doubt that. But I must keep a part of myself free. I have always savored it, the freedom to think and act and do as I will. I do not relish being restricted by... by expectations and traditions.”

He felt a sudden pang when Elrohir’s visage saddened. “Then you did not truly understand what binding to me would entail,” the warrior said. “But I suppose that should be no surprise. You once vowed never to give your heart to anyone and therefore did not trouble to learn the ways of our kindred in matters of love and espousal. Someone— I should have told you all the consequences that you might have made an informed decision. My error. I wrongly assumed you understood at least this much.”

Legolas’ anxiety rekindled. “What did I not understand?” he asked.

“That to our kind, to wed is to become one with the other, heart, body and spirit. There is no you and I... or there should not be. There should only be us—one whole and we the two halves that make it so. 

He sank down into the couch by the hearth, his eyes turning to the window and the forest view beyond. “We are not like Mortal-kind. We cleave wholly and willingly to our mates. True bindings require total commitment.” He looked back at the archer. “I always desire your well-being, to take care of you and your needs, and I yearn for your nurturing in return. And I have never felt ‘restricted’ by your desire to protect me yet I am as stubborn and independent as you are. ‘Tis the knowledge that you do it out of love that makes it acceptable and even desirable. Our bond demands it of us and ignites it in our hearts.”

“At least,” he hesitated, “in my heart. You do not seem to feel it as I do.” 

“But I do,” Legolas protested. He paused, suddenly discomfited. “Though I confess I have been fighting it.”

Stunned silence filled the room for several seconds.

“You fought the pull?!” Elrohir was incredulous.

“I did not like the feeling of being led... of not being in control of my own desires and impulses,” the archer answered honestly.

His mate stared at him in shocked comprehension. 

“That explains your demeanor with me,” he said in a disbelieving voice. “‘Tis no wonder you have been so brusque and demanding. You have been spending all your energy battling the pull and the very effort has curdled your sweet temper.” He stared at Legolas speculatively, which made the Wood-elf uneasy. 

“Do you recall that incident three years ago when I came north without you?” he said. “You sent me letters of such fearsome desperation that I returned to you sooner than planned.”

Legolas flushed uncomfortably as he remembered the contents of those missives. Never had he written so mawkishly before or since.

“Aye, I remember,” he murmured reluctantly.

“You had already began to distance yourself from me even then,” Elrohir quietly said. “But that was the longest time we’d spent apart since our binding. My long absence must have caused you to feel the pull more acutely than you could bear. Hence your frenzied need for me when I returned to you.” 

Legolas started at the observation. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment at having his secret struggle laid bare so completely and succinctly. 

“‘Tis also the reason why you run from me should we couple more lovingly than usual,” Elrohir continued musingly. “You do not want to need me overmuch; you think it a snare that robs you of your will. But the pull overcomes you nonetheless and so you strike back however you may... at me.” 

“You speak nonsense, Elrohir,” Legolas barked. “I am not overcome!”

“Nay? Listen to yourself just now, Calenlass,” Elrohir softly suggested.

The prince inhaled sharply, recognizing the edge his voice had taken. “That was not intended,” he said more temperedly.

“I know,” Elrohir acknowledged. “But it grieves me to learn the cause... the reason why you have been so combative of late and why you have not been as–as solicitous of me as expected of one who is espoused.” 

Legolas shook his head in vehement denial. “‘Tis not natural for me to play the tender lover,” he reasoned. “I was well-trained in the arts of war but not in courtship.”

A raven eyebrow rose in tacit scepticism. “My grandsire, Celeborn, is a lord and warrior without peer and has lived such a life since the Elder days,” the Elf-lord pointed out. “Yet he never resented it when my grandam, Galadriel, wove spells of enchantment to protect him or give him ease. He knew she did it out of love for him and cherished her efforts all the more because of this knowledge. You cannot have failed to see this in your own father, a warrior king of great renown yet a most tender spouse to your _naneth_. As is my _adar_ to my mother and Glorfindel to Erestor, Elladan to your sister and even Estel to Arwen though he is many generations removed from our shared Elven forebears.”

Chagrin skewered the prince as Elrohir concluded the formidable list that rendered his previous excuse hollow. “You are right, I did not know,” Legolas finally conceded in a low voice. “I thought you were only being...”

“Over protective? Too demanding of your attentions?” At the other’s mute nod, Elrohir looked away once more. “Nay, ‘twas the binding of my spirit to yours that guided me. But if you felt it as well yet managed to resist it, then…” He trailed off uncertainly. He drew a deep steadying breath. “Elves are bound, not delivered into bondage,” he murmured. “We exchange one kind of freedom for another. If you do not see this, if you cannot accept it, then ‘tis no surprise you were able to fight the pull... which no true binding-mate should have been able to do.” 

The prince’s eyes widened in patent dismay. “What are you saying?” he demanded. “That we are not truly bound?”

Elrohir’s expression turned unsure and melancholic. “I do not know,” he admitted. “I have never heard of a binding where one spouse felt as you do. But if you went into this withholding a part of yourself, then the vows you uttered were but words and you did not really seal yourself to me.”

“But the blood Rite! Surely that—”

“Would be akin to a couple who have children despite a loveless marriage. The blood Rite confirms the vows just as children are tangible evidence of the promises between husband and wife. But ‘tis our will, our cleaving hearts, our conscious choice that make our oaths true. Only in the full surrender of two Elves to each other are the vows duly sealed.” 

At the archer’s appalled expression, Elrohir felt sorrow wash over him. “You truly did not know,” he whispered. “You were not prepared to be bound.”

“But I was! I am!” Legolas cried fiercely. “I love you, Aduial. I gave you my heart!”

“Nay, Legolas. If you had, you would not have resented my efforts to care for you or be your shield.” Elrohir now gazed at him with the awful authority of a true son of Elrond. “Nor would you have resisted the compulsion to cherish me. And you would not have demeaned me as you so oft did, intentionally or not. You did not surrender to me and do not wish to. I may possess your body fully but only a portion of your heart and a fragment of your spirit. You are not mine. Not wholly. Not yet.”

Legolas felt the distance between them yawn wider than ever. So it had been since their quarrel amidst the hills of the Ered Mithrin. It had darkened his days, blackened his nights. Even their couplings, no matter how fierce or consuming, had not dispelled the feeling of separateness. 

He had reveled in the intimacy their binding had wrought; had savored the security of Elrohir’s closeness whether in body or spirit. Now he realized he alone had known this wonder, this contentment, for Elrohir had given himself wholly and freely. But the Elf-knight could not have felt quite the same joy. Not if Legolas had failed to give himself as completely as he had promised at their Rites.

Shame shriveled him anew as did remorse, grief and trepidation. The knowledge that Elrohir need not have suffered because of his stupidity weighed heavily on him. All he’d had to do was tell someone—anyone—about his conflicted feelings. His father, Elladan, Nimeithel, most especially Elrohir himself. Enlightenment would have come sooner and prevented his misguided attempts to extricate himself from his seemingly alarming addiction to Elrohir. An addiction that he now understood was wholly natural and even expected of him. Had he set aside his reservations, he would not then have subjected his mate to so much hurt and humiliation. But no, he had let his misbegotten pride and recalcitrance rule him and in the process irrevocably tarnished himself in Elrohir’s eyes.

‘Will I ever be worthy of him?’ Legolas thought disconsolately. How could an ignorant, wrong-headed woodland Elf ever be a fitting match for a scion of exalted, lore-steeped Imladris?

As the feelings of dread and wretchedness increased, tears started to roll down his cheeks and tremors began to wrack his body. He hunched down, his hands clenched convulsively on his lap, and wept unabashedly. The last time he had shed tears so copiously had been after his beloved mother’s death. But was not this the same thing? He was about to lose someone even more beloved to his heart and spirit. He could not conceive of any reason why Elrohir would wish to remain with him.

“I am sorry,” he sobbed harshly. “You should not have loved me, Elrohir. I am not worth it. I do naught but bring you pain, taint you with my touch. Maeglin was right. You should have chosen someone as learned as you, a highborn Noldo, and not a benighted Sinda like me. I am not fit for—”

His self-castigation was abruptly cut off when strong arms encircled him and pulled him close against a hard, reassuring chest. He flung his arms around the twin, holding him desperately, as if afraid the other would forsake him. Soothing hands stroked his hair and a low voice whispered loving words into his ear.

“Hush, do not blame yourself, Calenlass. I am sorry, too. I did not intend to make you doubt your worth. ‘Tis not your fault; you did not know. Not that it would matter whether you knew or not. I love you. I always will.” 

When the prince still shook violently in his arms, he said grimly, “I would kill Maeglin again for slighting you so cruelly. He spoke falsely, _melethron nîn_. I want no one else. You are all I need, all I want. You have brought me more joy than I’d ever hoped for.” He felt the enclosing arms tighten around him further. “I loved you even when you struggled against your feelings for me,” he murmured. “I can hardly cease now when you have given me your love at last.”

“Only to hold back once more what should have been yours in full,” Legolas flayed himself. “I am but a foolish, obstinate Elf who was fortunate enough to catch your eye.”

Elrohir shook his head and said softly: “Say rather an innocent, headstrong prince so fair of face and form and spirit that he not only caught my eye but stole my heart as well.” He smiled as a blush stained the archer’s cheeks. “Do not abase yourself. I have not forgotten how you selflessly succored me when I needed you and beyond the bounds of what friendship required of you. I have seldom known such nobility of heart and soul.” 

“That does not change the fact that I have wronged you once again. I would not blame you should you tire of me and my willful ways,” Legolas whispered fearfully. 

“Never, _meleth_. How can I? I am yours.”

“Yet you are no longer so close to me,” the prince said brokenly. “Even less now after all I have done to you. What I did and said... Forgive me,” he whispered. “I am shamed by my cruelty and...” He shuddered. “And my disregard for you as my mate... and equal...”

Elrohir marked his woeful countenance, his continued self-debasement. He stroked the shining strands comfortingly.

“Methinks you panicked at your lack of control,” he said softly. “By mastering me you sought to prove your mastery of your own body. But the pull would not let you alone and so you had to keep asserting your will and your dominance over and over again.”

Legolas shuddered. “What of my shameful jests?” he asked in a small voice. “There is no excusing that.”

“There is no excusing that, aye,” Elrohir agreed. “But I wager ‘twas another way of convincing yourself that you did not need me to make you feel whole.”

Legolas could not help a low moan of revulsion at his actions. He made to turn away, conscious all over again of just how undeserving he was of his spouse. But Elrohir refused to release him and held him ever more snugly.

“You did not know,” he repeated. “You thought it an unnatural impulse within you and therefore tried to rid yourself of it.”

“But had I confided in you—” the archer said. “I should have asked you...”

“And I should have instructed you,” Elrohir gently pointed out. “As I swore to do on our binding night.” At Legolas’s startled expression, he continued. “Even then you owned your lack of knowledge of what a binding entailed. You asked me to teach you and I promised I would. Yet this most significant matter I took for granted and did not trouble to relate to you.” He pressed a kiss to his spouse’s temple. “I was as remiss as you were willful. We both reaped what we sowed, Calenlass.” 

Legolas did not reply but only pressed his face against his mate’s shoulder. Elrohir looked insistently at him. When Legolas sensed his gaze upon him, he cravenly lifted his tear-stung eyes for only Elbereth knew what he might see in the twilight pools. 

He started when warm lips caught his and proceeded to suckle them tenderly. And when he gasped, Elrohir took advantage of this and, slipping between his parted lips, plundered his mouth with aching gentleness. Sensing a bridging of the chasm that separated them, Legolas eagerly responded, hungrily seeking emotional intimacy. Conscious only of his need to be as close as possible to his mate, the archer let go and immersed himself in the feeling of incompleteness that needed the other to feel whole. The fear of losing Elrohir overrode all other concerns.

For several sweet moments, they lost themselves in the bliss of their lips’ deep embrace. Legolas quivered as passion began to mount slowly in the very depths of his being, so needful had he been of his mate’s touch. He lowered a hand to tug at the belt of Elrohir’s robe. He was startled when a strong but light grip on his wrist stopped him. The darkling Elf drew back, breaking their kiss. The prince stared at him. The twin’s eyes mildly chided him.

Legolas flushed. He was doing it again. Asserting his will without taking Elrohir’s side of the equation into consideration. After all, there had been no indication that his spouse wanted to proceed any further than their kisses. His bowed his head, disconcerted.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “What... what do _you_ want?”

A finger under his chin compelled him to raise his head and look at the Elf-knight. Elrohir’s eyes gleamed with understanding and something else besides.

“ _Heltho_ ,” he softly told him. Strip.

Legolas stared in surprise then, turning rosy with sudden shyness, he reached for the ties on his bed-shirt and started to undo them. When he lowered his eyes, however, he felt Elrohir’s thought brush his mind.

_Do not look away. I would see your eyes._

Obeying, he looked up again at Elrohir; realized the warrior was also disrobing though his gaze stayed locked on the archer. They shed their garments thus, their connected gaze never wavering. It came to Legolas that, by holding his gaze, Elrohir was plumbing his very soul, reading in his eyes his true feelings and thoughts.

Legolas opened himself to the knowing stare; pushed aside all his previous resistance. He felt his heart beat wildly as Elrohir bore him down upon the bed and kissed him with such heart-stopping gentleness it rendered him breathless. Warm, thrilling caresses brushed his lips, his cheeks, his throat and shoulders, wandered down to his chest, pausing to lightly nibble the roseate nipples into aching stiffness. 

Elrohir ground their groins together, rhythmically sliding their rigid lengths against each other, causing sharp bolts of pure sensation to steal up their spines. Then blessing Legolas’s mouth with the deepest of kisses, he took the archer’s hand and guided it between their lean forms. With a purposefulness that left the prince aflame, he folded Legolas’s fingers around his shaft then did the same to the archer. Together, they fondled each other even as their lips clung in heated harmony, their breaths quickening, becoming shallower with every caress of their fingers. 

Legolas could not suppress a moan when Elrohir reached down and proceeded to stroke the slicked columns in unison, all but undone by the stabbing pleasure that nearly pushed them both over the edge. They were soon trembling with an even greater need.

When Elrohir released his mouth to press kisses upon his neck and throat, Legolas could no longer hold back and he rasped pleadingly, “Please, Aduial, I need you. Have me... please...” 

Elrohir paused then raised his head and regarded him thoughtfully. Legolas felt a pang of apprehension smite him. The twilight eyes were veiled once more. He wondered why yet feared to know the reason. 

“Would you have a mere half-breed Elf take you?”

The quietly voiced query stung Legolas to the quick. Tears pricked his eyes once more. He swallowed painfully. It was apparent Elrohir still did not trust him completely. Anxiously searching the other’s impassive countenance, he thought he espied the slightest glimmer of emotion. Of incertitude. 

The truth came to him in a flash. When had he last yielded to the Elf-knight? He could hardly remember the moment himself. For so many months now, he had demanded and received his mate’s compliance. And then he’d maligned Elrohir’s Peredhil heritage and led him to believe that he had resented submitting to one who was only of the half-blood. Was it any wonder that the warrior now doubted his desire to be taken?

He thought his heart would break at this revelation. But he took his courage in hand and swallowed what pride he may have still harbored. He would not fail Elrohir again. 

“Aye, I would,” he whispered earnestly. “If he would deign to soil himself with one so base as I.”

The impassive gaze turned warm with wonder and deep affection. Elrohir stroked his fingers across the damp cheeks, watched the blue eyes light up with pure, unabridged love. 

“You are not base, _ernilen_ ”—my prince—he murmured, bestowing kisses upon the pale fluttering lids, easing away any remaining tears. “ _Mîren_.”—my treasure. He showered butterfly caresses on the finely etched cheekbones, tasting the salt of the archer’s previous grief. “ _Inden_.”—my heart. He lowered his mouth to Legolas’s and captured the trembling lips with searing need to taste the sweetness within. 

Legolas was nearly undone by the power of such profoundly affectionate words. He snaked his legs around Elrohir’s waist in a mute plea. 

Without releasing the archer’s lips, the twin eased into his lithe frame, slowly, deliberately, so that each felt every sensation until they were both breathing raggedly into each other’s mouth. As the warrior buried himself to the hilt, something else connected as intimately as their bodies.

Legolas felt their spirits speaking once more, reaching out eagerly, hungry for the other. He shivered in sheer delight, moaned against Elrohir’s lips as the twin began a motion as ancient as the Elves themselves, driving deep into him even as he delved the honeyed recesses of his mouth. Reaching for Elrohir’s hands, he grasped them and intertwined their slender fingers.

Equal parts pleasure and joy coursed through the archer’s body as he pushed onto the warrior’s thrusts. The last barrier was gone. His Elf-knight was open to him once more, his trust fully restored. Their renewed closeness stoked their passion into a virtual conflagration of pure sensation. 

Elrohir gently freed his hands, slipped his arms under the prince and, rising to a sitting position, their supple forms still joined, scooped him up, letting the archer straddle his thighs. 

Legolas uttered a ragged gasp as his impalement grew more acute when he came to rest upon Elrohir’s lap. Gathered against the Elf-knight’s body, he found his lips devoured anew. He savored the intense intimacy of their position, mouths, torsos, groins and limbs pressed against or wrapped around the other. 

At Elrohir’s behest, they took it as slowly as they could. When Legolas would have pushed down hard onto him, the warrior held the archer’s hips, keeping him from moving overmuch, controlling the intensity of their motions yet angling his upward thrusts to languidly stroke him within. Slowly, gently, they rocked their hips together, ardently whispering their love and desire to each other, savoring the crawling tendrils of sensation as they seeped into their veins, crept into their muscles, leaked into their nerves, gradually but inexorably building the ravaging pleasure of completion. 

Tremors savaged their sinews, the thrill of impending release snaked through their limbs. And the feelings flowed through their tightly wrought connection, washing inexorably over both of them until, at last, they could take no more. With a groan, Elrohir grasped Legolas by the hips and pressed him down urgently upon his piercing length. It proved the archer’s undoing. The Elf-knight’s name sobbingly wrenched from him, Legolas was swept away on a wave of wondrous sensation as his release overwhelmed him, taking Elrohir along with him into utter, incomparable bliss. They held each other tightly, waiting for their trembling to subside, reluctant to part after such voracious loving. 

There had been a purity to this joining, a sweetness they had not experienced for quite some time. 

After a while, the prince lay down beside his beloved Elf-knight. Strangely, despite their protracted coupling, neither Elf longed for sleep. If anything they were still wound up, their bodies not yet fully spent. Loath to separate from the twin even after the other had withdrawn from him, Legolas promptly entwined his long legs with the other’s limbs and laid his head in the crook of his beloved’s neck. Elrohir chuckled softly at this long unseen display of affection. 

At the mirthful sound, Legolas raised his head. Regarding the smiling warrior, he asked, “What?”

“I missed this,” Elrohir answered simply, placing a hand on the prince’s thigh, which lay atop his.

Legolas looked so contrite that Elrohir took a moment to ease him with a gentle kiss. The prince beamed almost shyly then laid his head down once more. 

“Elrohir?”

“Hmm?”

“You said we exchange one freedom for another kind. Forgive me my ignorance but could you please explain this?”

Legolas looked at Elrohir again as he spoke, crystalline eyes gleaming with curiosity. His determination to learn and set things right between them moved Elrohir immensely. 

“‘Tis true that Elves give up the freedom they once knew upon taking a spouse,” he explained. “‘Tis the reality for all races that honor the traditions of mating. But the _Edhil_ are accorded a special grace. Our bindings are eternal and therefore our passions must be without diminishment. Yet we would be hard-pressed to maintain such feelings for eternity. Even Elves may grow weary of the endless effort to love and succor a mate without the help our very nature provides us.”

He smiled at his golden mate who was rapt with attention and fascination. “The pull we feel when we are bound was placed there by the One himself to help us sustain our eternal bonds. ‘Tis a gift that allows us to turn our conscious thoughts and deeds elsewhere whilst keeping us secure in the knowledge that our love and desire remain constant. Call it instinct if you will but, if we let it, the pull guides us in our demeanor towards our mates, teaches us the ways of immortal lovers... all these without our having to put our full minds and efforts into pleasing each other. We can thus turn our energies to other things: to better our race, our culture and ourselves. In this sense, it is liberating. ‘Tis a different kind of freedom but sweeter I think for having someone to share it with.”

He studied the archer who looked thoughtful with belated comprehension. “You did not lose yourself to our union when we were bound,” he quietly concluded, “but gained me instead... my whole self, heart, body and spirit.” 

The sapphire eyes were brilliant with enlightenment. Legolas gazed at him musingly. “Think yourself up to loving me through this night?”

One darkly elegant eyebrow shot up. “Is that a challenge?”

“Nay, an invitation.”

Both eyebrows rose in amusement. “So lustful, _melethen_?”—my love.

The archer’s adoring smile took his breath away. He thought he had never seen his prince so enchanting or beautiful. “I would be wholly yours, Elrohir,” Legolas said reverently. “I would belong to you, heart, body and spirit.”

Elrohir gazed at him, eyes aglow with love and reawakening desire. He had felt the archer’s surrender during their rabid coupling, known that Legolas had finally sealed his vows to him in full. But this heartfelt declaration warmed him immeasurably, recognizing as he did the humility it had taken for Legolas to openly voice it.

“Then I will love you through the night, Calenlass _nîn_ ”—my Greenleaf —the Elf-knight whispered. “I will make you mine.” 

And make him his he did, repeatedly, until the night grew old and their sated bodies, still melded together in love, Legolas’s fair head tucked under his chin, finally gave in to the siren song of sleep. But not before he heard the archer’s emotion-infused whisper against his neck, each endearment emphasized with a kiss. 

“I love you, _rochiren... iaunen... faeren_.” My knight. My refuge. My soul.

With a contented sigh, Elrohir slipped into deep repose, holding his heart’s choice in the circle of his possessive embrace. 

**********************************  
Glossary:  
naneth – mother  
adar – father  
melethron nîn – my lover  
meleth – love 

_To be continued…_


	17. XVI. A New Day

The winter sun was streaming through the open balcony door and windows by the time Legolas awoke. The first thing his eyes beheld was Elrohir looking down at him with an expression of rapt tenderness. He swallowed hard, his whole body suddenly infused with warmth under so loving a regard by so beloved an Elf.

“What is it?” he whispered.

Elrohir had only one hushed word to say. “Beautiful.”

Color stained the prince’s cheeks. But a smile soon graced his lips and he lifted his head to take a hungry draught of the warrior’s mouth. As the kiss deepened, he turned into Elrohir’s arms, wanting to feel them around him. His backside chose the moment to protest and he winced unwittingly against the Elf-knight’s lips.

Elrohir gently broke away and looked at him with concern. “You are sore,” he murmured ruefully, reaching down to stroke his mate’s admittedly abused rear end. 

Legolas laughed softly. “Aye, and I love it.” He laughed even more when Elrohir’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

But it was true. He welcomed the discomfort. It assured him all over again of Elrohir’s complete possession of him the night before. His spouse had not taken him so thoroughly and repeatedly in many years. With such edacious loving, he had found security and utter serenity. 

“Have me again,” he murmured, nuzzling Elrohir’s throat.

Elrohir protested. “Calenlass, that will only make it worse—”

“Nay,” Legolas interrupted. “It will make it better.”

Elrohir stared at him with some wonder, understanding what he meant but amazed nevertheless that he should welcome the pain. But the sight of Legolas gazing at him with open yearning, fair cheeks flushed with need, silver gold locks spilling onto the pillow in lush abandon, lean form enticingly bared and wantonly inviting... His reluctance evaporated precipitately and he pressed his eager prince back onto the rumpled sheets. 

The morning was old when they finally emerged from their apartment. Legolas’s steady gait betrayed none of his discomfort at having been ridden oft and well through the night and little more than an hour ago as well. A good hot bath liberally laced with healing herbs and a soothing salve from Elrohir’s bountiful store of medicaments had taken care of the worst of the soreness. And given him too many ideas for his own good, the warrior told him later.

Even so supposedly mundane a gesture as the application of the salve had left him wriggling with pleasure until he spent himself yet again. But with Elrohir performing that service for him, what had he expected? His Elf-knight’s ministrations were as delicious as they were efficacious. 

Arms around each other’s waists, dark and fair heads bent close as they talked softly, they made their way to the dining hall. They paused a moment when they came to the open gallery that ran the length of the front of the royal pavilion. 

A thin sheet of snow now covered the landscape and servants were busily clearing the tree-lined path to the delved halls. For the first time that winter, everything looked wonderfully natural.

They went on to the dining hall. Entering they were surprised to espy Elladan seated by himself at one of the long narrow tables tucking into hot porridge. At this late hour, they had thought themselves the last of the family to seek breakfast.

While Legolas sauntered off to inquire about what fare was available, Elrohir went to join his twin. He was taken aback as he neared Elladan to see the latter looking worn and obviously lacking in sleep. A far cry from his radiant self shortly after his sons’ births and even his slightly unsettled but still joyful state when he moved his family into their apartment.

“Elladan, are you all right?” he asked with concern, sinking onto the bench beside his brother. He lifted a hand to the older twin’s shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly.

Elladan stopped spooning porridge into his mouth and looked up rather wearily. “I am here so I must be all right,” he muttered.

Elrohir stared at him in astonishment. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?” he asked.

Elladan sighed. “I suppose so.” He suddenly groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Ah, no one warned me that babes could be so demanding! One is bad enough but two—!” 

Elrohir found himself torn between sympathy and amusement. The latter shamelessly won out before long. He snickered, earning a scowl from Elladan.

“A father for but a day and already you are overwrought!” he teased his twin. “How terrible was it, _gwaniaur_?”

“You do not know the half of it!” Elladan exclaimed. “If they were not howling for milk, they were bawling because they were wet and oft at the same time. I am beginning to understand how _Adar_ and _Naneth_ must have felt when we were born. What I need to know is how they survived!”

Elrohir chuckled. “ _Muindor_ , you cannot let this best you,” he said. “Remember, ‘tis only the beginning.”

“Do not remind me!” Elladan growled. After a moment, he looked over to where Legolas was speaking with one of his father’s counsellors. “Judging from your bright spirits this morn, may I take it that you have resolved your problem with Legolas?”

“That you may,” Elrohir replied with such patent satisfaction, Elladan had to smile. 

“I am happy for you, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—he said. “And I am relieved there is no longer a reason for me to take umbrage at his ill usage of you.”

“As to that, I may very well be the one accused of ill usage if what passed between us last night continues unabated,” Elrohir quipped. As Elladan nearly choked on a spoonful of oats, he slyly added: “I fear I will run out of salve before long. In which case, Legolas will have to forego riding for a while unless I can concoct more soonest.”

Elladan stared at him in growing gladness. His twin’s wicked humor had been missing for many months now. For it to return and so flagrantly lubricious at that was more than ample evidence of his restored happiness and contentment. 

“If you do all the mounting and overdo it as well, he may not be able to sit on a horse again,” he pointed out with a salacious grin.

Elrohir laughed then shook his head protestingly. “I am not so cruel as to deprive my mate of so pleasant an exercise,” he countered, the innuendo not lost on his now chortling twin. “Besides, Legolas is too much a warrior to accept being on the receiving end of every charge!” As Elladan dissolved into laughter, he concluded, “It is only fair that I take my fill of his attentions every now and then.” 

Elladan shook his head, wiping tears of hilarity from his eyes. “Ah, you are definitely back in form, _tôren!_ ”—my brother—he gasped.

Just then a bowl of steaming oats was deposited before Elrohir. It was generously topped with chopped nuts and dried cherries, apple shards and currants and liberally sprinkled with cinnamon. Delighted, Elrohir glanced up to thank the servant who’d brought it and was startled to discover it was Legolas who had done so. He stared a little open-mouthed as the prince sat opposite him, setting his own bowl of porridge on the table as well.

Elrohir was, to put it mildly, stupefied. Legolas had never deigned to serve him before. Elladan, however, stared at the sumptuous repast before his brother and demanded, “Why were there no fruits and nuts in _my_ oats?”

Legolas glanced up and idly shrugged. “I asked for them,” he explained. “‘Tis Elrohir’s favorite breakfast dish.” He began to stir his own and failed to see the twins’ astonished reactions.

Before either brother could speak, a servant placed a jug of warm cream on the table. Elrohir reached for it but Legolas had it in hand before him. The brethren watched in amazement as the archer poured a thick stream of cream onto Elrohir’s oats before dousing his own.

The twins exchanged wondering glances. Gingerly, Elrohir mixed his meal and began to eat, glancing surreptitiously now and then at his golden-haired spouse.

The servant returned with a pitcher of fruit nectar and some drinking cups. Elrohir was just lifting the spoon to his mouth when he saw the prince lift the pitcher and fill a cup almost to the brim and then place the cup by the younger twin’s bowl. The Elf-knight brought the spoon down with a distinct clatter. Elladan, chewing on an apple shard swiped from his brother’s bowl, promptly choked on it and began to cough as a result.

The sounds caught the prince’s attention and he looked up to find the twins watching him with fascination.

“What?” he asked warily.

Elrohir blinked. “Nothing, Legolas,” he managed to say. “‘Tis just that I am not used to you serving me.”

“He is not the only one,” Elladan commented.

Legolas looked from one brother to the other. “Oh,” he said hesitantly. A blush colored his cheeks. “I am sorry. Was I annoying you?”

At the uncertainty in his prince’s countenance, Elrohir promptly came out of his daze. He reached across the table and placed an assuring hand on the archer’s. “Nay, _melethen_ ”—my love—he warmly said. “In truth, it pleases me to have so solicitous a lover care for my needs.” His grey eyes caught the prince’s blue ones and held them.

Legolas blushed even more deeply at the dark gleam in Elrohir’s gaze. Elladan, seeing the signs and swiftly interpreting them, groaned and said, “I can tell how you two are going to spend the morning. A perfectly good waste of a fine winter morning, if you ask me.”

“We did not,” Elrohir grinned, still gazing at Legolas.

Elladan shook his head in resignation whilst the two continued with their meal, their eyes meeting meaningfully ever so often.

They were nearly done when Gimli came trudging into the hall. The Dwarf did not look like he had gotten much sleep either. He joined them and all but plopped himself on the bench beside Legolas.

The prince looked him up and down anxiously. “What is wrong, my friend,” he queried. “Are you ill?”

Gimli glanced at him with bleary eyes. “Nay, I am quite well. I am just—” He yawned so widely his hand could not quite cover his gaping mouth. “—sleepy.”

“We can see that,” Legolas agreed, beckoning to a servant to bring the Dwarf food.

“What kept you from sleep?” Elrohir inquired curiously.

Gimli cast a rather jaundiced eye at him and Elladan before glaring at Legolas. “May I respectfully ask for a change of accommodations?” he pointedly said to the prince. “‘Tis an impossibility to get any rest when one’s neighbors include newborn babes.”

Legolas gasped then began to laugh. He was quickly joined by the twins. “Was it truly that bothersome?” the archer chuckled.

“ _Bothersome?_ ” Gimli harrumphed. “Never have I known such noise! All that whining and yelping and complaining! Aaagh! I demand you move me to another chamber at once, Legolas!”

While Legolas and Elrohir burst anew into chuckles, Elladan found the wherewithal to protest.

“Surely my sons were not _that_ loud!” he said.

Gimli snorted. “Who said I was talking about your sons? I was talking about you!” he retorted.

Elladan stared at the Dwarf in shocked dudgeon while his twin and law-brother looked on with ill-concealed mirth. 

“I do not whine!” he exclaimed.

“Then you do a very good imitation of it!” Gimli snipped.

“You should talk, Master Dwarf, when your snores would wake up the dead!”

It was Gimli’s turn to glower.

“At least I do not sniffle and snivel like a babe!” he blasted.

“Nay, you only bellow like a herd of mûmakil with a collective belly-ache!”

The bickering escalated, drawing the attention of just about every Elf in the hall. Legolas glanced at Elrohir; the two managed to bite back their laughter for a while but soon it simply proved too difficult to stay their mirth. Rather than offend either Elladan or Gimli further, they rose together and quickly exited the hall.

Then and only then did they whoop with laughter, their humor stoked even further by what they heard of the continued debate between one indignant Elf-father and his disgruntled Dwarf-neighbor. 

_To be continued…_


	18. XVIII. Heart and Soul

The two princes sauntered down the wide corridor leading to the shaded path that would bring them to the delved halls. They were greeted by various courtiers and retainers along the way. Legolas could not help noticing that most surreptitiously studied them and, upon seeing his proprietary hand on Elrohir’s back, would nod approvingly.

Yes, change had indeed worked its spell on the woodland realm, he mused. Just a few centuries ago, his binding to Elrohir would have been received with shock and censure. Now they were looked upon with fond indulgence in the manner of elders regarding young lovers. But there was more to the half-concealed smiles than their natural affection for their youngest prince and his beloved mate. 

They were actively relieved to see him behaving as a bound _Edhel_ should. More than ever, it brought home to Legolas just how negligent he had been toward his Elf-knight and what Elrohir had endured while struggling to keep his faith in him. 

He glanced at the twin; saw the incandescent glow that had been so dimmed but a few weeks back. Legolas knew what had brought that glimmering light back into Elrohir’s being. Remembered anew how the warrior had loved him the night before, blessing him with the sheer magic of their repeated joinings. It had left him breathless with wonder and hungry for even more intimacy not only of the body but also of the heart and spirit. 

Legolas knew one night of loving could not possibly make up for all he had done to Elrohir. As such, in the rosy aftermath of his latest undoing this very morn, he had vowed to himself to spend the rest of his days making amends. He would love his Elf-knight with all his being, succor him in times of need, woo him should they have differences. He would share his whole self with him that they might always be one even when they were apart.

The pull surged up within him unbidden, tenderly urging him into action. This time he did not struggle against it. This time he embraced it eagerly. He was no longer ignorant of its purpose, no longer afraid to follow its lead. His gaze settled intently on Elrohir.

The warrior had paused to speak to the nurse of Elladan’s twin sons, inquiring as to the state of the infants. After being assured of the Elflings’ well-being and learning they were fast asleep at the moment, he turned to Legolas, thinking to suggest that they visit their nephews later when they were awake. He was startled when the prince gently but firmly pushed him against the wall.

There and then, in full sight of every Elf who passed down the hallway, he claimed the warrior’s lips, oblivious of the dropped jaws and popeyed stares of virtually every person in the vicinity. Nor did he hurry with his tender plundering of Elrohir’s mouth, deepening it until they were both breathing heavily.

When he finally drew away, Elrohir gazed at him with soft-eyed amazement. “What was that for?” the twin asked, a warm smile indicating his delight at such open affection from his golden prince. 

Legolas smiled back. “For love of you, Aduial,” he murmured. “My glorious _bereth_ , my incomparable Elf-knight.”

The grey eyes widened at the fulsome praise. But the smile on the sinuous lips broadened further, the beauty of it enticing the archer into snaring the warrior in yet another searing kiss.

“I think we have caused quite a stir,” Elrohir grinned when they finally broke apart. 

Legolas looked about him with the expression of someone becoming aware of his surroundings for the first time. His eyes widened in consternation. The hallway was now crowded with Elves, all staring at them with a riotous mix of shock, amazement, curiosity, delight and, for some, slight disapproval at so wanton a display of passion. Well, there was no pleasing everybody after all.

The prince blushed deeply, his natural reserve in such matters, momentarily quelled by the pull, now coming to the fore. Elbereth! What would his father say when word got back to him? He groaned, already anticipating the masterful lecture on proper decorum his sire was sure to deliver this day.

“Ashamed, Calenlass?” Elrohir quietly asked.

Legolas looked at him and saw the beginning of a frown creasing the twin’s smooth temple. He hastened to allay the other’s concern.

“Nay, how could I be ashamed of this passion we share?” he said, gripping Elrohir’s hands tightly. “I am ever so blessed that ‘twas I you learned to desire all those years ago else I would not know the bliss of your love now.” At the easing of the incipient frown from his mate’s brow, he added, “But I think we had best continue this in private. ‘Tis not wise to call Father’s attention to us. I have no wish to be scolded like a mere Elfling at my age!” 

The frown vanished completely to be replaced by a grin. Lyrical laughter filled the corridor, the sweetest music Legolas thought he’d ever had the pleasure to hear. Still chuckling, Elrohir shook his head in mirth. He knew his law-father’s mind all too well.

“And shall we then confirm Elladan’s insinuations and waste this fine winter morning as he put it?” he inquired cheekily.

“Most assuredly,” Legolas grinned back. “Nothing would please me more, Elrohir _nîn_. Besides, _you_ are a splendid waste of time!”

He took no more thought to the curious Elves about them, cared no longer what the King might have to say about their behavior. Steering the Elf-knight away from the shaded path, he purposely led him back to their rooms instead. He belonged to Elrohir and Elrohir was his and that was all that mattered this wonderful morn on the edge of winter and the first stirring of spring.

****************************************  
Glossary:  
bereth – spouse  
Elrohir nîn – my Elf-knight

_End of Part XXIII._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part XXIV: Golden Obsession – During a holiday in Dol Amroth, Legolas proves the strength of his fidelity to his binding vows both to Elrohir and himself._


End file.
